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HENRY WARD BEECHER
Evolution of Expression
Charles Wesley Emerson
Founder of Emerson College of Oratory
A COMPILATION OF SELECTIONS ILLUSTRATING
THE FOUR STAGES OF DEVELOPMENT
IN ART AS APPLIED TO ORATORY
In Four Volumes^ 'with Key to Each Chapter
VOLUME II — REVISED
EMERSON PUBLISHING COMPANY
Copyrighted by C. W. Emerson
The Barta Press
Slide .•«...•••.. 7
Vital Slide .......... 8
Slide in Volume ....•.•.. 9
Forming PicTuaBS ......... 10
Tact and Talent London Atlas 13
Shylock to Antonio ... William Shakespeare 15
The Cynic H. W. Beecher 16
Good By, Pboud World ... B. W. Emerson 18
The Destruction of Sennacherib . . Lord Byron 19
Unwritten Music N. P. Willis 20
Laus Mortis . . . Frederic Lawrence Knowles 23
Taxation of the Colonies . . . Edmund Burke 24
My Heart Leaps Up . . . William Wordsworth 29
Forest Scene From As Tou Like It William Shakespeare 30
The Rising in 1776 T. B. Bead 35
The Tent-Scene Between Bru-
tus AND Cassius . . William Shakespeare 39
The Forging of the Anchor . . , 8. Ferguson 43
Supposed Speech op John Adams . Daniel Webster 48
Life and Song Sidney Lanier 53
Gathering Song of Donald the Black Sir Walter Scott 54
4 EVOLUTIOK OF EXPKESSION.
NuTTiKG William Wordsworth 55
The Dodson Family George Eliot 58
After the March Kain . . William Wordsworth 66
First Battles of the Revolution . Edward Everett 67
The Antiquity of Freedom . . . W. C. Byrant 70
National Bankruptcy Mirabeau 73
The Lantern Bearers . . Robert Louis Stevenson 14:
Tarpeia Louise Imogen Guiney 78
The Bells . » E. A. Poe 82
The Temperance Question . . Wendell Phillips 86
Sheridan's Ride T. B. Bead 89
To a Pupil Walt Whitman 92
The Pickwickians on Ice . . , Charles Dickens 93
The Realm of Fancy J. Keats 103
The Battle of Naseby ... Lord Macaulay 106
The Glories of Mornino . . . Edward Everett 109
The Chambered Nautilus . . , O. W. Holmes 111
Autumn . . . . . . . . H. W. Beecher 112
Midsummer J. T. Trowbridge 116
The Kitten and Falling Leaves William Wordsworth 118
Summer Storm .... James Russell Lowell 121
Jaques' Seven Ages of Man . William Shakespeare 125
THE ATTRACTIVE OR MELODRAMATIC PERIOD.
Love took up the harp of life and smote on all the chords with
Smote the chord of Self, that, trembling, passed in music out of
The power to detach, and to magnify by detaching, is the
essence of rhetoric in the hands of the orator and the poet. This
rhetoric, or power to fix the momentary eminence of an object,
so remarkable in Burke, in Byron, in Carlyle — depends upon the
depth of the artist's insight of that object he contemplates.
For use of selections in this volume especial
thanks are tendered Houghton, Mifflin & Co.,
Frederic Lawrence Knowles, Horace Traubel,
Secretary Walt Whitman Fellowship, and
J. T. Trowbridge.
Thus far in the student's development, his mind has dealt
chiefly with each subject as a Whole. Now he begins to find a
new interest in showing his hearers that the discourse is made
up of a series of definite Parts. He takes delight in fixing their
attention upon each part in succession.
As in crossing a brook on stones, a person poises for a moment,
first on one stone, then on another, so the speaker balances the
minds of his hearers, first on one thought, then another, poising
for a moment on each distinct point before leaving it for the
next. The teacher should now lead the pupil to attract atten-
tion to separate parts as wholes. We are entering the melo-
dramatic stage, where abandon to each part is as necessary as it
was in the beginning to the spirit of the whole. The pupil must
see the parts and give them to others at any cost.
In the history of art this step is marked by the grotesque ; the
pupil should be encouraged to stand out the points of thought
boldly, regardless of artistic effect. This step is of vital impor-
tance in all future development, and unless emphasized now, will
require constant effort hereafter.
Sharp contrasts are brought strongly to bear in presenting
vividly and distinctly separate points of thought. As the pupil
earnestly strives to impress each point of thought, in all its new
interest, his voice becomes more decidedly modulated, rising and
faUing in distinct intervals. Thought of each part as a whole
and by contrast, together with the desire to impart it, is reported
8 EVOLUTION OF EXPEESSION.
in varied inflections which add a new charm to expression.
Through slides the voice of the speaker may be said to express
the tune of the thought.
Analysis. Example: " Tact and Talent. " (Page 13.)
Unit, or Whole : A comparison of Tact and Talent.
(a) The characteristics of Tact.
1. Tact is infinitely resourceful. Paragraph 1, etc.
2. Tact is the power which achieves results. Paragraph 2, etc.
(Other "sub-parts '* may be enumerated.)
(6) The characteristics of Talent.
(A number of "sub-parts " are embodied.)
The teacher should view the work of the pupil with special
reference to the parts of this selection, leading him to impress
these parts, or successive points of thought, upon his audience.
The continued antithesis makes this selection a good one for the
purpose ; parts that are set in contrast easily engage the
As the mind of the pupil separates each thought from the
other main thoughts of the discourse, and holds it before the
minds of his hearers, he finds it more and more attractive. His
endeavor to interest others deepens his own interest, and the
sUdes in his voice report this increased concentration, in increased
vitality. The pupil seeing the spirit and life of the whole in each
vital part, or part vital to the life of the unit, desires to make
each part live as a whole in the niinds of the listeners. |Ie no
SLIDE IN VOLUME. y
longer touches it with uncertain stroke ; the slide has become a
Analysis. Example: " The Rising of 1776. " (Page 35.)
Unit, or Whole : A pastor of early Revolutionary times who
makes his Sunday sermon an appeal for freedom.
(a) The spirit of the times. Stanza 1.
(b) The church and the people. Stanzas 2 and 3.
(c) The pastor and his appeal. Stanzas 4, 5, 6 and part of 9.
(d) The effect of the appeal. Stanzas 7, 8 and 9.
Let the student's earnest endeavor be to interest his audience
in these essential parts. The words which especially reveal
these vital parts of the selection will be given with no uncertain
stroke. If the interest of both speaker and Hstener is fully
aroused, the slide has become a vital one. Remember always
that the desired effect in the voice results from the mental con-
cept ; it is not developed mechanically, but grows out of thought.
SLIDE IN VOLUME.
As the mind of the student continues to dwell upon the parts
of the subject as separate and distinct wholes, there is gradually
developed within him an appreciation of the value of each part.
Out of the effort to make each thought live in the minds of the
hearers is bom the desire to reveal the value of that thought.
This desire is reported in the voice through Slide in Volume.
The significance of the term Volume has been explained in an
earlier chapter. The valuable parts that the speaker presents
are expressed through inflections that suggest breadth and
freedom. Each part is felt to have a value of its own, intel-
lectual, moralf estljetic, or spirituj^l?
10 EVOLUTION OF EXPRESSION.
Freedom of will is expressed in the voice by slide in volume,
for the speaker, convinced of the truth of his thought, is learning
obedience to it, and obedience is always the way to freedom.
It must be remembered that the intellect determines the value
of the parts. It is true that the discernment is sharpened by
the sensibility ; but the feelings, unguided by the thought, may
be misleading. Feeling is dangerous unless controlled by
thought. All sentiment must be directed to the audience
"thought foremost " — the [thought itself must induce the
Analysis. Example : * * The Bells. ' * (Page 82. )
Unit of thought]: Varied bells, expressing varied emotion.
(a) The tinkling bells of Merriment. Stanza 1.
(6) The mellow bells of Love. Stanza 2.
(c) The clanging bells of Terror. Stanza 3.
(d) The tolling bells of Menace. Stanza 4.
This poem is well adapted to develop power in emphasizing
parts : the several parts are very distinctly differentiated, as
the student must reveal through the rendering. He should
strive to reveal them as graphically as the author has set them
forth. Moreover, he should endeavor to make their value felt.
In doing this, he will perceive the varjring scale of values ; some
of the bells reflect gi'eat value, others less.
The student's persistent endeavor to impress the successive
parts of his theme upon the minds in his presence will eventu-
ally lead him to see those parts in picturesque groupings. As he
flashes these pictures upon the mental vision of the audience,
FORMING PICTUKES. 11
they become clearer to his own vision. His own power of imag-
ery is in proportion to his ability to impart this power to others.
Herein lies one of the most helpful means of cultivating the
imagination, — the eye of the intellect, — the basis of all sym-
pathy. Every effort to tell a story clearly so as to impress its
details upon the minds of others, every attempt to picture a
landscape, a meadow, a river, a sunset vividly to others,
quickens and strengthens the pupil's own imaging power. His
attempt to make his listeners put themselves in the place of
another, see through the eyes and from the point of view of a
Wordsworth or Shakespeare, quickens his own imagination,
broadens his sympathies, and develops his intellect as nothing
else can. * * The man of imagination has lived all lives, has enjoyed
all heavens, and felt the pang of every hell. '*
The student must continue to watch for the effect of his words
in other minds. He cannot afford to be introspective while speak-
ing, for the mind cannot be in the creative and in the critical
state at the same time. The pictures, then, must be formed in
the minds of the hearers ; they are the only canvas upon which
he can hope to paint his picturesque parts. They are the mirror
in which the pictures of his thought must be reflected, as the
stars are mirrored in the waters of the lake.
Analysis. Example : * * The Chambered Nautilus. ' ' (Page 111.)
Unit, or Whole : The lesson of the Chambered Nautilus.
(a) The Nautilus. Stanzas 1, 2.
(6) Its method of growth. Stanza 3.
(c) Its message to the soul. Stanzas 4, 5.
Lead the pupil to present a clear picture of "the ship of
pearl," of its own original environment and course of evolution,
and of the beautiful figure which embodies the lesson.
TACT AND TALENT.
1. Talent is something, but tact is everything. Talent
is serious, sober, grave, and respectable ; tact is all that,
and more too. It is not a sixth sense, but it is the life
of all the five. It is the open eye, the quick ear, the
judging taste, the keen smell, and the lively touch ; it
is the interpreter of all riddles, the surmounter of all
difficulties, the remover of all obstacles. It is useful in
all places, and at all times ; it is useful in solitude, for
it shows a man his way into the world ; it is useful in
society, for it shows him his way through the world.
2. Talent is power, tact is skill ; talent is weight, tact
is momentum ; talent knows what to do, tact knows how
to do it ; talent makes a man respectable, tact will make
him respected ; talent is wealth, tact is ready money.
3. For all the practical purposes of life, tact carries
it against talent, ten to one. Take them to the theatre,
14 EVOLUTION OF EXPRESSION. [Vol. II.]
and put them against each other on the stage, and tal-
ent shall produce you a tragedy that will scarcely live
long enough to be condemned, while tact keeps the
house in a roar, night after night, with its successful
farces. There is no want of dramatic talent, there is no
want of dramatic tact ; but they are seldom together :
so we have successful pieces which are not respectable,
and respectable pieces which are not successful.
4. Take them to the bar, and let them shake their
learned curls at each other in legal rivalry. Talent
sees its way clearly, but tact is first at its journey's
end. Talent has many a compliment from the bench,
but tact touches fees from attorneys and clients. Tal-
ent speaks learnedly and logically, tact triumphantly.
Talent makes the world wonder that it gets on no
faster, tact excites astonishment that it gets on so fast.
And the secret is, that tact has no weight to carry ; it
makes no false steps ; it hits the right nail on the head ;
it loses no time ; it takes all hints ; and, by keeping its
eye on the weathercock, is ready to take advantage of
every wind that blows.
5. Take them into the church. Talent has always
something worth hearing, tact is sure of abundance of
hearers ; talent may obtain a good living, tact will make
one ; talent gets a good name, tact a great one ; talent
convinces, tact converts ; talent is an honor to the pro-
fession, tact gains honor from the profession.
6. Place them in the senate. Talent has the ear of
[Chap. I.] shylock: to antonio. 15
the house, but tact wins its heart, and has its votes ;
talent is fit for employment, but tact is fitted for it.
Tact has a knack of slipping into place with a sweet
silence and glibness of movement, as a billiard ball in-
sinuates itself into the pocket. It seems to know every-
thing, without learning anything. It has served an
invisible and extemporary apprenticeship ; it wants no
drilling ; it never ranks in the awkward squad ; it has
no left hand, no deaf ear, no blind side. It puts on no
looks of wondrous wisdom, it has no air of profundity,
but plays with the details of place as dexterously as a
well-taught hand flourishes over the keys of the piano-
forte. It has all the air of commonplace, and all the
force and power of genius.
SHYLOCK TO ANTONIO.
Signor Antonio, many a, time and oft
In the Rialto you have rated me
About my moneys and my usances :
Still I have borne it with a patient shrug;
For sufferance is the badge of all our tribe.
You call me misbeliever, cut-throat dog,
And spit upon my Jewish gaberdine.
And all for use of that which is mine own.
Well, then, it now appears, you need my help ;
Go to, then ; you come to me, and you say —
16 EVOLUTION OF EXPBESSION. [Vol. II.]
»* Shylock, we would have moneys." You say so;
You that did void your rheum upon my beard,
And foot me, as you spurn a stranger cur
Over your threshold ; moneys is your suit.
What should I say to you ? Should I not say —
" Hath a dog money? Is it possible
A cur can lend three thousand ducats ? " or
Shall I bend low, and in a bondman's key,
With bated breath and whispering humbleness,
Say this —
" Fair sir, you spit on me on Wednesday last ;
You spurned me such a day ; another time
You called me dog ; and for these courtesies
111 lend you thus much moneys I '*
1. The Cynic is one who never sees a good quality in
a man, and never fails to see a bad one. He is the
human owl, vigilant in darkness and blind to light,
mousing for vermin, and never seeing noble game.
2. The Cynic puts all human actions into only two
classes — openly bad and secretly bad. All virtue,
and generosity, and disinterestedness, are merely the
appearance of good, but selfish at the bottom. He holds
that no man does a good thing except for profit. The
effect of his conversation upon your feelings is to chill
and sear them, to send you away sour and morose.
[Chap. I.] THE CYNIC. IT
3. His criticisms and innuendoes fall indiscriminately
upon every lovely thing like frost upon the flowers.
If Mr. A. is pronounced a religious man, he will reply :
yes, on Sundays. Mr. B. has just joined the church :
certainly, the elections are coming on. The minister
of the gospel is called an example of diligence : it is his
trade. Such a man is generous : of other men's money.
This man is obliging : to lull suspicion and cheat you.
That man is upright, because he is green.
4. Thus his eye strains out every good quality, and
takes in only the bad. To him religion is hypocrisy,
honesty a preparation for fraud, virtue only a want of
opportunity, and undeniable purity, asceticism. The
livelong day he will coolly sit with sneering lip, trans-
fixing every character that is presented.
5. It is impossible to indulge in such habitual sever-
ity of opinion upon our fellow-men, without injuring
the tenderness and delicacy of our own feelings. A
man will be what his most cherished feelings are. If
he encourage a noble generosity, every feeling will be
enriched by it ; if he nurse bitter and envenomed
thoughts, his own spirit will absorb the poison, and he
will crawl among men as a burnished adder, whose life
is mischief, and whose errand is death.
6. He who hunts for flowers will find flowers ; and
he who loves weeds will find weeds.
Let it be remembered that no man, who is not him-
self morally diseased, will have a relish for disease in
18 EVOLUTION OF EXPRESSION. [Vol. II. 3
others. Reject, then, the morbid ambition of the Cynic,
or cease to call yourself a man.
H. W. Beeoher.
GOOD BY, PROUD WORLD,
Good by, proud world I I'm going home ;
Thou'rt not my friend, and I'm not thine.
Long through the weary crowds I roam,
A river-ark on the ocean brine.
Long I've been tossed like the driven foam
And now, proud world, I'm going home.
Good by to Flattery's fawning face ;
To Grandeur, with his wise grimace ;
To upstart Wealth's averted eye ;
To supple Office, low and high ;
To crowded halls, to court and street ;
To frozen hearts and hasting feet ;
To those who go and those who come ;
Good by, proud world ! I'm going home.
I am going to my own hearthstone.
Bosomed in yon green hills alone —
A secret nook in a pleasant land.
Whose groves the frolic fairies planned, — ^
[Chap. I.] THE DESTRCrCTION OF SENNACHEKIB. 19
Where arches green, the livelong day,
Echo the blackbird's roundelay,
And vulgar feet have never trod, —
A spot that is sacred to thought and God
O, when I am safe in my sylvan home,
I tread on the pride of Greece and Rome ;
And when I am stretched beneath the pines
Where the evening star so holy shines,
I laugh at the lore and the pride of man,
At the sophist schools, and the learned clan ;
For what are they all, in their high conceit.
When man in the bush with God may meet ?
Ralph Waldo Emerson.
THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB.
The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold,
And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold ;
And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea
Where the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee.
Like the leaves of the forest when summer is green.
That host with, their banners at sunset were seen ;
Like the leaves of the forest when autumn hath blown,
That host on the morrow lay withered and strewn.
20 EVOLUTION OF EXPBESSION. [Vol. II.]
For the angel of death spread his wings on the blast,
And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed ;
And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill,
And their hearts but once heaved, and forever grew still.
And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide.
But through it there rolled not the breath of his pride ;
And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf,
And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf.
And there lay the rider distorted and pale,
With the dew on his brow and the rust on his mail ;
And the tents were all silent, the banners alone.
The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown.
And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail,
And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal ;
And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword,
Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord !
1. There is unwritten music. The world is full of
it. I hear it every hour that I wake ; and my waking
sense is surpassed sometimes by my sleeping, though
[Chap. I.] UNWRITTEN MTJSIO. 21
that is a mystery. There is no sound of simple nature
that is not music. It is all God's work, and so harmony.
You may mingle, and divide, and strengthen the pas-
sages of its great anthem ; and it is still melody, —
2. The low winds of summer blow over the water-
falls and the brooks, and bring their voices to your ear,
as if their sweetness were linked by an accurate finger ;
yet the wind is but a fitful player ; and you may go out
when the tempest is up and hear the stronp" trees moan-
ing as they lean before it, and the long grass hissing as
it sweeps through, and its own solemn monotony over
all ; and the dripple of that same brook, and the water-
fall's unaltered bass shall still reach you, in the inter-
vals of its power, as much in harmony as before, and as
much a part of its perfect and perpetual hymn.
3. There is no accident of nature's causing which
can bring in discord. The loosened rock may fail into
the abyss, and the overblown tree rush down through
the branches of the wood, and the thunder peal awfully
in the sky; and sudden and violent as their changes
seem, their tumult goes up with the sound of wind and
waters, and the exquisite ear of the musician can detect
4. I have read somewhere of a custom in the High-
lands, which, in connection with the principle it involves,
is exceedingly beautiful. It is believed that, to the ear
of the dying (which just before death becomes always
22 EVOLUTION OF EXPEESSION. [Vol. II.]
exquisitely acute,) the perfect harmony of the voices of
natui*e is so ravishing, as to make him forget his suffer-
ing, and die gently, as in a pleasant trance. And so,
when the last moment approaches, they take him from
the close shieling, and bear him out into the open sky,
that he may hear the familiar rushing of the streams.
I can believe that is not superstition. I do not think
we know how exquisitely nature's many voices are
attuned to harmony and to each other.
5. The old philosopher we read of might not have
been dreaming when he discovered that the order of the
sky was like a scroll of written music, and that two stars
(which are said to have appeared centuries after his
death, in the very places he mentioned) were wanting
to complete the harmony. We know how wonderful
are the phenomena of color, how strangely like consum-
mate art the strongest dyes are blended in the plumage
of birds, and in the cups of flowers ; so that, to the
practiced eye of the painter, the harmony is inimitably
6. It is natural to suppose every part of the universe
equally perfect; and it is a glorious and elevating
thought, that the stars of Heaven are moving on con-
tinually to music, and that the sounds we daily listen
to are but part of a melody that reaches to the very
centre of God's illimitable spheres.
N. P. Willis.
LGhap.Lj LAXJS MORTIS. 23
Nay, why should I fear Death,
Who gives us life and in exchange takes breath ?
He is like cordial Spring
That lifts above the soil each buried thing ; —
Like Autumn, kind and brief
The frost that chills the branches, frees the leaf.
Like Winter's stormy hours.
That spread their fleece of snow to save the flowers.
The loveliest of all things —
Life lends us only feet, Death gives us wings I
Fearing no covert thrust,
Let me walk onward armed with valiant trust.
Dreading no unseen knife.
Across Death's threshold step from life to life I
Oh, all ye frightened folk.
Whether ye wear a crown or bear a yoke,
Laid in one equal bed,
When once your coverlet of grass is spread,
What daybreak need you fear ?
The love will rule you there which guides jrou here I
24 EVOLUTION OF EXPRESSION. [Vol. II. |
Where Life, the Sower, stands.
Scattering the ages from his swinging hands,
Thou waitest, Reaper lone,
Until the multitudinous grain hath grown.
Scythe-bearer, when thy blade
Harvest my flesh, let me be unafraid !
God's husbandman thou art !
In His un withering sheaves, oh, bind my heart.
Frederic Lawrence Knowles.
TAXATION OF THE COLONIES.
1. Sir : I agree with the honorable gentleman who
spoke last, that this subject is not new to this House.
Very disagreeably to this House, very unfortunately to
this nation, and to the peace and prosperity of this
whole empire, no topic has been more familiar to us.
For nine long years, session after session, we have been
lashed round and round this miserable circle of occa-
sional arguments and temporary expedients.
2. I am sure our heads must turn and our stomachs
nauseate with them. We have had them in every
shape. We have looked at them in every point of view.
Invention is exhausted ; reason is fatigued ; experience
has given judgment ; but obstinacy is not yet conquere4.
[Chap. I.] TAXATION OF THE COLONIES. 25
3. The act of 1767, which grants this tea-duty, sets
forth in its preamble, that it was expedient to raise a
revenue in America for the support of the civil govern-
ment there, as well as for purposes still more extensive.
About two years after this act was passed, the ministry
thought it expedient to repeal five of the duties, and to
leave (for reasons best known to themselves) only the
4o But I hear it rung continually in my ears, now
and formerly, — " The preamble ! what will become of
the preamble if you repeal this tax ? " The clerk will
be so good as to turn to this act, and to read this favor-
5. " Whereas it is expedient that a revenue should
be raised in your Majesty's dominions in America, for
making a more certain and adequate provision for de-
fraying the charge of the administration of justice and
support of civil government in such provinces where it
shall be found necessary, and towards further defray-
ing the expenses of defending, protecting, and securing
the said dominions."
6. You have heard this pompous performance.
Now, where is the revenue which is to do all these
mighty things ? Five-sixths repealed, — abandoned, —
sunk, — gone, — lost forever. Does the poor solitary
tea-duty support the purposes of this preamble ? Is not
the supply there stated as effectually abandoned as if
the tea-duty had perished in the general wreck ? Here,
26 EVOLUTION OF EXPEESSION. [Vol. II.]
Mr. Speaker, is a precious mockery : — a preamble
without an act, — taxes granted in order to be repealed,
— and the reason of the grant carefully kept up ! This
is raising a revenue in America I This is preserving
dignity in England !
7. Never did a people suffer so much for the empty
words of a preamble. It must be given up. For on
what principle does it stand? This famous revenue
stands, at this hour, on all the debate, as a description
of revenue not as yet known in all the comprehensive
(but too comprehensive!) vocabulary of finance — a
preambulary tax. It is, indeed, a tax of sophistry, a
tax of pendantry, a tax of disputation, a tax of war and
rebellion, a tax for anything but benefit to the imposers
or satisfaction to the subject.
8. Weill but whatever it is, gentlemen will force
the colonists to take the teas. You will force them ?
Has seven years' struggle been yet able to force them ?
Gh, but it seems "we are in the right. The tax is
trifling, — in effect rather an exoneration than an impo-
sition; three-fourths of the duty formerly payable on
teas exported to America is taken off, — the place of
collection is only shifted ; instead of the retention of a
shilling from the drawback here, it is three-pence custom
paid in America."
9. All this, sir, is very true. But this is the very
folly and mischief of the act. Incredible as it may
i^eem, you know that you have deliberately throwi;
[Chap. I.] TAXATION OF THE COLONIES. 27
away a large duty, whicli you held secure and quiet in
your hands, for the vain hope of getting one three-
fourths less, through every hazard, through certain liti-
gation, and possibly through war.
10. Could anything be a subject of more just alarm
to America, than to see you go out of the plain high-
road of finance, and give up your most certain revenues
and your clearest interest, merely for the sake of in-
sulting the colonies ? No man ever doubted that the
commodity of tea could bear an imposition of three
pence. But no commodity will bear three pence, or
will bear a penny, when the general feelings of men
are irritated, and two millions of people are resolved
not to pay.
11. The feelings of the colonies were formerly the
feelings of Great Britain. Theirs were formerly the
feelings of Mr. Hampden, when called upon for the pay-
ment of twenty shillings. Would twenty shillings
have ruined Mr. Hampden's fortune? No! but the
payment of half twenty shillings, on the principle it
was demanded, would have made him a slave. It is
the weight of that preamble, of which you are so fond,
and not the weight of the duty, that the Americans are
unable and unwilling to bear.
12. It is, then, sir, upon the principle of this meas-
ure, and nothing else, that we are at issue. It is a
principle of political expediency. Your act of 1767 as-
serts that it is expedient to raise a revenue in America ;
28 EVOLUTION OF EXPRESSION. [Vol. II.]
your act of 1769, which takes away that revenue, con-
tradicts the act of 1767, and by something much
stronger than words, asserts that it is not expedient.
It is a reflection upon your wisdom to persist in a sol-
emn parliamentary declaration of the expediency of
any object, for which, at the same time, you make no
13. And pray, sir, let not this circumstance escape
you, — it is very material, — that the preamble of this
act which we wish to repeal, is not declarc-tory of a
right, as some gentlemen seem to argue it : it is only
a recital of the expediency of a certain exercise of right
supposed already to have been asserted ; an exercise
you are now contending for by ways and means which
you confess, though they were obeyed, to be utterly
insufficient for their purpose. You are, therefore, at
this moment in the awkward situation of fighting for a
phantom, — a quiddity, — a thing that wants not only
a substance, but even a name, — for a thing which is
neither abstract right nor profitable enjoyment.
14. They tell you, sir, that your dignity is tied to it.
I know not how it happens, but this dignity of yours is
a terrible incumbrance to you ; for it has of late been
ever at war with your interest, your equity, and every
idea of your policy. Show the thing you contend for
to be reason, show it to be common sense, show it to
be the means of attaining some useful end, and then
I am content to allow it what dignity you please. But
[Chap. I.] MY HEART LEAPS UP. 29
what dignity is derived from the perseverance in ab
surdity is more than ever I could discern.
15. The honorable gentleman has said well, that
this subject does not stand as it did formerly. Oh, cer-
tainly not ! Every hour you continue on this ill-chosen
ground, your difficulties thicken around you ; and there-
fore my conclusion is, remove from a bad position as
quickly as you can. The disgrace, and the necessity
of yielding, both of them, grow upon you every hour of
MY HEART LEAPS UP.
My heart leaps up when I behold
A rainbow in the sky :
So was it when my life began,
So is it now I am a man,
So be it when I shall grow old
Or let me die !
The Child is father of the Man :
And I could wish my days to be
Bound each to each by natural piety.
30 EVOLUTION OF EXPRESSION. [Vol. XL]
AS YOU LIKE IT.
Act III. Scene II.
Bos, \^Aside to €elia.'\ I will speak to him like a
saucy lackey and under that habit play the knave with
him. Do you hear, forester?
OrL Very well : what would you ?
Bos, I pray you, what is't o'clock ?
Orl, You should ask me what time o' day : there's
no clock in the forest.
Bos, Then there is no true lover in the forest ; else
sighing every minute and groaning every hour would
detect the lazy foot of Time as well as a clock.
Orl, And why not the swift foot of Time ? had not
that been as proper ?
Bos, By no means, sir : Time travels in divers paces
with divers persons. I'll tell you who Time ambles
withal, who Time trots withal, who Time gallops withal,
and who he stands still withal.
Orl. I prithee, who doth he trot withal ?
Bos, Marry, he trots hard with a young maid between
the contract of her marriage and the day it is solemniz'd ;
if the interim be but a se'nnight. Time's pace is so
hard that it seems the length of seven years.
Orl, Who ambles Time withal ?
Bos. With a priest that lacks Latin and a rich man
that hath not the gout, for the one sleeps easily because
he cannot study, and the other lives meriily because he
[Chap. I.] AS YOTJ LIKE IT. 31
feels no pain, the one lacking the burden of lean and
wasteful learning, the other knowing no burden of
heavy tedious penury ; these Time ambles withal.
OrL Who doth he galop withal ?
Ros. With a thief to the gallows ; for though he go
as softly as foot can fall, he thinks himself too soon
OrL Who stays it still withal?
Ros. With lawyers in the vacation ; for they sleep
between term and term, aud then they perceive not how
Orl. Where dwell you, pretty youth ?
Ros, With this shepherdess, my sister ; here in the
skirts of the forest, like fringe upon a petticoat.
Orl, Are you native of this place?
Ros. As the cony that you see dwell where she is
Orl. Your accent is something finer than you could
purchase in so remcv'd a dwelling.
Ros. I have been told so of many : but indeed an old
religious uncle of mine taught me to speak, who was in
his youth an inland man ; one that knew courtship too
well, for there he fell in love. I have heard him read
many lectures against it, and I thank God I am not a
woman, to be touch'd with so many giddy offences as
he hath generally tax'd their whole sex withal.
Orl. Can you remember any of the principal evils
laid to the charge of women ?
32 EVOLUTION OF EXPRESSION. [Vol. II.]
Ros, There were none principal ; they were all like
one another as half-pence are, every one fault seeming
monstrous till his fellow-fault came to match it.
Orl, I prithee, recount some of them.
Ros. No, I will not cast away my physic but on those
that are sick. There is a man haunts the forest, that
abuses our young plants with carving Rosalind on their
barks; hangs odes upon hawthorns and elegies on
brambles, all, forsooth, deifying the name of Rosalind :
if I could meet that fancy-monger, I would give him
some good counsel, for he seems to have the quotidian
of love upon him.
Orl, I am he that is so love-shak'd : I pray you, tell
me your remedy.
Ros. There is none of my uncle's marks upon you :
he taught me how to know a man in love ; in which
cage of rushes, I am sure, you are not prisoner.
Orl. What were his marks ?
Ros. A lean cheek, which you have not; a blue
eye, and sunken, which you have not; an unquestion-
able spirit, which you have not; a beard neglected,
which you have not; but I pardon you for that,
for simply your having in beard is a younger
brother's revenue: then your hose should be un-
garter'd, your bonnet unhanded, your sleeve un-
button'd, your shoe unti'd and every thing about you
demonstrating a careless desolation; but you are
no such man; you are rather point-device in your
[Chap. I.] AS YOU LIKE IT. 33
accoutrements, as loving yourself than seeming the
lover of any other.
Orl, Fair youth, I would I could make thee believe
Ros, Me believe it? you may as soon make her that
you love believe it ; which, I warrant, she is apter to do
than to confess she does : that is one of the points in
the which women still give the lie to their consciences.
But, in good sooth, are you he that hangs the verses on
the trees, wherein Rosalind is so admired ?
Orl, I swear to thee, youth, by the white hand of
Rosalind, I am that he, that unfortunate he.
Bos, But are you so much in love as your rhymes
Orl. Neither rhyme nor reason can express how
Ros. Love is merely a madness; and, I tell you,
deserves as well a dark house and a whip as madmen
do ; and the reason why they are not so punish'd and
cured is, that the lunacy is so ordinary that the whippers
are in love too. Yet I profess curing it by counsel.
OrL Did you ever cure any so ?
Ros, Yes, one; and in this manner. He was to
imagine me his love, his mistress ; and I set him every
day to woo me : at which time would I, being but a
moonish youth, be effeminate, changeable, longing and
liking, proud, fantastical, apish, shallow, inconstant,
full of tears, full of smiles, for every passion something
34 EVOLUTION OF EXPRESSION. [Vol. 11.]
and for no passion truly any thing, as boys and women
are for the most part cattle of this colour ; would now
like him, now loathe him; then entertain him, then
forswear him ; now weep for him, then spit at him ; that
I drave mv suitor from his mad humour of love to a
living humour of madness ; which was, to forswear the
full stream of the world, and to live in a nook merely
monastic. And thus I cur'd him ; and this way will I
take upon me to wash your liver as clean as a sound
sheep's heart, that there shall not be one spot of love
Orl. I would not be cured, youth.
Hos. I would cure you, if you would but call me
Rosalind, and come every day to my cote and woo me.
OrL Now, by the faith of my love, I will: tell
me where it is.
Hos, Go with me to it, and I'll show it you : and by
the way you shall tell me where in the forest you live.
Will you go?
Orl, With all my heart, good youth.
Bos. Nay, you must call me Rosalind. Come, sister,
will you go ?
THE RISING IN 1776.
Out of the north, t£e wild news camcs
Far flashing on its wings of flame, - a 4^
Swift as the boreal light which flies f \ ' /^ *•
At midnight through the startled skies.
And there was tumult in the air,
The fife's shrill note, the drum's loud beats
And through the wide land everywhere
The answering tread of hurrying feet 1
While the first oath of Freedom^s gun
Came on the blast from Lexington ;
And Concord, roused, no longer tame.
Forgot her old baptismal name.
Made bare her patriot arm of power,
And swelled the discord of the hour.
86 EVOLUTION OF EXPRESSION. [Vol. II.]
Within its shade of elm and oak
The church of Berkley Manor stood;
There Sunday found the rural folk,
And some esteemed of gentle blood.
In vain their feet with loitering tread
Passed 'mid the graves where rank is naught;
All could not read the lesson taught
In that republic of the dead.
How SLweet the hour of Sabbath talk,
The vale with peace and sunshine full
Where all the happypeople walk,
Decked in their homespun flax and wool I
Where j^outh's gay hats with blossoms bloom.
And every maid with simple art,
Wears on her breast, like her own heart,
A bud whose depths are all perfume ;
While every garment's gentle stir
Is breathing rose and lavender.
The pastor^ came ; his snowy locks ' •
HalTowed his brow of thought and carej //v
And calmly, as shepherds lead their flocks.
He led into the house of prayer. . ;
The pastor rose ; the prayer was strong j y ijiA
The psalm was warrior David's song ; ;^ ' '
The text, a few short words of might, —
" The Lord of hosts shall arm the right I *'
[Chap. II.] THE RISING IN 1776. 81
He spoke of wrongs too long endured.
Of sacred rights to be secured ;
Then from Kis patriot tongue of flame
The startling words for Freedom came»
The stirring sentences he spake,
Compelled the heart to glow or quake.
And, rising on his theme's broad wing.
And grasping in his nervous hand
The imaginary battle-brand.
In face of death he dared to fling
Defiance to a tyrant king.
Even as he spoke, his frame, renewed
In eloquence of attitude,
Rose, as it seemed, a shoulder higher ;
Then swept his kindling glance of fire
From startled pew to breathless choir ;
When suddenly his mantle wide
His hands impatient flung aside.
And, lo 1 he met their wondering eyes
Complete in all a warrior's guise.
A moment there was awful pause, —
When Berkley cried, " Cease, traitor I cease I
God's temple is the house of peace ! **
The other shouted, " Nay, not so.
When God is with our righteous cause ;
88 EVOLUTION OF EXPEESSiOJ^. T'O^ ^L'
His holiest places then are ours,
His temples are our forts and towers.
That frown upon the tyrant foe ;
In this, the dawn of Freedom's day,
There is a time to fight and pray 1 '*
And now before the open door —
The warrior priest had ordered so —
The enlisting trumpet's sudden roar
Rang through the chapel, o'er and o'er.
Its long reverberating blow.
So loud and clear, it seemed the ear
Of dusty death must wake and hear.
And there the startling drum and fife
Fired the living with fiercer life ;
While overhead, with wild increase,
Forgetting its ancient toll of peace,
The great bell swung as ne'er before :
It seemed as it would never cease ;
And every word its ardor flung
From off its jubilant iron tongue
Was, " War I War ! War ! '*
« Who dares " — this was the patriot's cry,.
As striding from the desk he came, -^ —
" Come out with me, in Freedom's name
For her to live, for her to die ? "
A hundred hands flung up reply,
A hundred voices answered "II*'
T. B. Read.
rChap. II.] SCENE BETWEEN BEXJTUS AND CASSIUS. 39
THE TENT^SCENE BETWEEN BRUTUS AND
Cassius. That you have wronged me doth appear
in this :
You have condemned and noted Lucius Pella,
For taking bribes here of the Sardians ;
Wherein, my letters (praying on his side,
Because I knew the man) were slighted off.
Bkutus. You wronged yourself, to write in such a
Cas. At such a time as this, it is not meet
That every nice offence should bear its comment,
Bru. Let me tell you, Cassius, you yourself
Are much condemned to have an itching palm ;
To sell and mart your offices for gold,
Cas. I an itching palm ?
You know that you are Brutus that speak this,
Or, by the gods, this speech were else your last.
Bru. The name of Cassius honors this corruption,
And chastisement doth therefore hide its head.
Cas. Chastisement ?
Brtj. Remember March, the ides of March re-
Did not great Julius bleed for justice's sake ?
What villain touched his body, that did stab,
And not for justice? — What I shall one of us,
That struck the foremost man of all this world.
But for supporting robbers ; — shall we now
Contaminate our fingers with base bribes ?
And sell the mighty space of our large honors
For so much trash as may be grasped thus? —
40 EVOLUTION OF EXPEESSION. [VoL 11.]
I had rather be a dog, and bay the moon, }
Than such a Roman.
Cas. Brutus, bay not me :
I'll not endure it. You forget yourself,
To hedge me in : I am a soldier, I,
Older in practice, abler than yourself
To make conditions.
Bru. Go to ; you're not, Cassius.
Cas. I am.
Bru. I say you are not.
Cas. Urge me no more : I shall forget myself:
Have mind upon your health : tempt me no further.
Bru. Away, slight man I
Cas. Is't possible I
Bru. Hear me, for I will speak.
Must I give way and room to your rash choler?
Shall I be frighted when a madman stares ?
Cas. Must I endure all this ?
Bru. All this ? Ay, more I Fret till your proud
Go, show your slaves how choleric you are,
And make your bondmen tremble. Must I budge ?
Must I observe you ? Must I stand and crouch
Under your testy humor ?
You shall digest the venom of your spleen,
Though it do split you : for, from this day forth,
I'll use you for my mirth ; yea, for my laughter,
When you are waspish.
Cas. Is it come to this ?
Bru. You say you are a better soldier ;
Let it appear so ; make your vaunting true.
And it shall please me well. For mine own part,
I 3hall be glad to learn of noble men*
[Chap. II.] SCENE BETWEEN BRUTUS AND CASSIUS. 41
Cas. You wrong me every way; you wrong me,
I said an elder soldier, not a better.
Did I say better?
Bru. If you did I care not.
Cas. When Csesar lived, he durst not thus have
Bru. Peace, peace ! you durst not so have tempted
Cas. I durst not?
Cas. What I Durst not tempt him?
Bru. For your life you durst not.
Cas. Do not presume too much upon my love ;
I may do that I shall be sorry for.
Bru. You have done that which you should be
There is no terror, Cassius, in your threats I
For I am armed so strong in honesty,
That they pass by me as the idle wind,
Which I respect not. I did send to you
For certain sums of gold, which you denied me : —
For I can raise no money by vile means :
I had rather coin my heart,
And drop my blood for drachmas, than to wring
From the hard hands of peasants their vile trash
By any indirection. I did send
To you for gold to pay my legions ; \
Which you denied me.
Was that done like Cassius ?
Should I have answered Caius Cassius so?
When Marcus Brutus grows so covetous,
To lock such rascal counters from his friends,
42 EVOLUTION OF EXPRESSION. [Vol. II.]
Be ready, gods, with all your thunderbolts ;
Dash him to pieces I
Cas. I denied you not.
Bru. You did.
Cas. I did not : He was but a fool
That brought my answer back. — Brutus hath rived my
A friend should bear a friend's infirmities ;
But Brutus makes mine greater than they are.
Brd". I do not, till you practice them on me.
Cas. You love me not.
Bru. I do not like your faults.
Cas. a friendly eye could never see such faults.
Bru. a flatterer's would not, though they do ap-
As huge as high Olympus.
Cas. Come, Antony, and young Octavius, come !
Revenge yourselves alone on Cassius :
For Cassius is a- weary of the world —
Hated by one he loves ; braved by his brother ;
Checked like a bondman ; all his faults observed.
Set in a note-book, learned, and conned by rote,
To cast into my teeth.
0, I could weep
My spirit from my eyes I — There is my dagger,
And here my naked breast ; within, a heart
Dearer than Plutus' mine, richer than gold :
If that thou be'st a Roman, take it forth:
1, that denied thee gold, will give my heart.
Strike, as thou didst at Caesar ; for I know.
Then thou didst hate him worst, thou lovedst him
Than ever thou lovedst Cassius,
[Chap. II.] THE EOEGING OF THE ANCHOR. 43
Beu. Sheath your dagger ;
Be angry when you will, it shall have scope :
Do what you will, dishonor shall be humor.
O Cassius, you are yoked with a lamb.
That carries anger, as the flint bears fire ;
Who, much enforced, shows a hasty spark,
And straight is cold again.
Cas. Hath Cassius lived
To be but mirth and laughter to his Brutus,
When grief and blood ill-tempered vexeth him?
Bru. When I spoke that, I was ill-tempered too.
Cas. Do you confess so much ? Give me your hand
Beu. And my heart, too.
Cas. O Brutus !
Bru. What's the matter ?
Cas. Have you not love enough to bear with me.
When that rash humor which my mother gave me.
Makes me forgetful ?
Bru. Yes, Cassius ; and from henceforth.
When you are over-earnest with your Brutus,
He'll think your mother chides, and leave you so.
THE FORGING OF THE ANCHOR.
Come, see the Dolphin's anchor forged ; 'tis at a white
heat now ;
The bellows ceased, the flames decreased; though on
the forge's brow
44 EVOLUTION OF EXPRESSION. [Vol. II.]
The little flames still fitfully play through the sable
And fitfully you still may see the grim smiths ranking
All clad in leathern panoply, their broad hands only
Some rest upon their sledges here, some work the wind-
The windlass strains the tackle chains, the black mound
And red and deep a hundred veins burst out at every
It rises, roars, rends all outright — O Vulcan, what a
'Tis blinding white, 'tis blasting bright ; the high sun
shines not so :
The high sun sees not, on the earth, such fiery, fearful
The roof-ribs swarth, the candent hearth, the ruddy,
Of smiths, that stand, an ardent band, like men before
the foe ;
As, quivering through his fleece of flame, the sailing
Sinks on the anvil — all about the faces fiery grow —
" Hurrah ! " they shout — " leap out ! — leap out ! "
bang, bang, the sledges go.
[Chap. II.] THE FORGING OF THE ANCHOR. 45
Leap out, leap out, my masters I leap out and lay on
Let's forge a goodly anchor, a bower, thick and
For a heart of oak is hanging on every blow, I bode,
And I see the good ship riding, all in a perilous
The low reef roaring on her lee, the roll of ocean
From stem to stern, sea after sea, the main-mast by the
The bulwarks down, the rudder gone, the boats stove
at the chains ;
But courage still, brave mariners, the bower yet
And not an inch to flinch he deigns save when ye pitch
Then moves his head, as though he said, " Fear nothing
— here am II"
Swing in your strokes in order, let foot and hand keep
Your blows make music sweeter far than any steeple's
But while ye swing your sledges, sing, and let the
The anchor is the anvil king, and royal craftsmen we.
46 EVOLUTION OF EXPEESSION. [Vol. II.]
Strike in, strike in ; the sparks begin to dull their rust-
ling red ;
Our hammers ring with sharper din, our work will soon
be sped ;
Our anchor soon must change his bed of fiery, rich
For a hammock at the roaring bows, or an oozy couch
of clay ;
Our anchor soon must change the lay of merry crafts-
For the yeo-heave-o, and the heave away, and the sigh-
ing seaman's cheer.
In livid and obdurate gloom, he darkens down at last,
A shapely one he is and strong, as e'er from cat was cast.
A trusted and trustworthy guard, if thou had'st life like
What pleasures would thy toils reward beneath the
deep-green sea I
O deep-sea-diver, who might then behold such sights as
The hoary monster's palaces ! methinks what joy 'twere
To go plump, plunging down amid the assembly of the
And feel the churned sea round me boil beneath their
scourging tails I
[Chap. II.] THE FOEGING OF THE ANCHOR. 47
Then deep in tangle woods to fight the fierce sea-unicorn,
And send him foiled and bellowing back, for all his
ivory horn ;
To leave the subtle sworder-fish, of bony blade forlorn,
And for the ghastly grinning shark, to laugh his jaws
O broad-armed fisher of the deep, whose sports can
equal thine ?
The Dolphin weighs a thousand tons, that tugs thy
cable line ;
And night by night *tis thy delight, thy glory day by
Through sable sea and breaker white, the giant game
to play ;
But, shamer of our little sports, forgive the name I gave ;
A fisher*s joy is to destroy — thine office is to save.
O lodger in the sea-king's halls, couldst thou but un-
Whose be the white bones by thy side, or who that
Slow swaying in the heaving wave, that round about
With sounds like breakers in a dream, blessing their
ancient friend ;
O couldst thou know what heroes glide with larger
steps round thee.
Thine iron side would swell with pride, thou'dst leap
within the sea !
48 ^ EVOLUTION OF EXPRESSION. [Vol. II.]
Give honor to their memories, who left the pleasant
To shed their blood so freely for the love of Father-
Who left their chance of quiet age and grassy church-
So freely for a restless bed amid the tossing wave —
O, though our anchor may not be all I have fondly sung,
Honor him for their memory, whose bones he goes
SUPPOSED SPEECH OF JOHN ADAMS.
1. Sink or swim, live or die, survive or perish, I give
my hand and my heart to this vote. It is true, indeed,
that in the beginning we aimed not at independence.
But there's a divinity which shapes our ends. The
injustice of England has driven us to arms ; and, blinded
to her own interest for our good, she has obstinately
persisted, till independence is now within our grasp.
We have but to reach forth to it, and it is ours. Why,
then, should we defer the Declaration ?
2. Is any man so weak as now to hope for a recon-
ciliation with England, which shall leave either safety
to the country and its liberties, or safety to his own
life and his own honor? Are not you, sir, who sit in
that chair, is not he, our venerable colleague near you,
[Chap. II.] SUPPOSED SPEECH OF JOHN ADAMS. 49
are you not both already the prescribed and predestined
objects of punishment and of vengeance ? Cut off from
all hope of royal clemency, what are you, what can you
be, while the power of England remains, but outlaws ?
3. If we postpone independence, do we mean to carry
on or give up the war ? Do we mean to submit to the
measures of Parliament, Boston Port Bill, and all?
Do we mean to submit, and consent that we ourselves
shall be ground to powder, and our country and its
rights trodden down in the dust?
4. I know we do not mean to submit. We never
shall submit. Do we intend to violate that most solemn
obligation ever entered into by men, that plighting be-
fore God, of our sacred honor to Washington, when,
putting him forth to incur the dangers of war, as well
as the political hazards of the times, we promised to
adhere to him, in every extremity, with our fortunes
and our lives ?
6. I know there is not a man here, who would not
rather see a general conflagration sweep over the land,
or an earthquake sink it, than one jot or tittle of that
plighted faith fall to the ground. For myself, having,
twelve months ago, in this place, moved you that
George Washington be appointed commander of the
forces raised, or to be raised, for the defence of Ameri-
can liberty, may my right hand forget her cunning, and
my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth, if I hesitate
or waver in the support I give him.
50 EVOLUTION OF EXPBESSION. [Vol. II.]
6. The war, then, must go on. We must fight it
through. And if the war must go on, why put off longer
the Declaration of Independence ? That measure will
strengthen us. It will give us character abroad. The
nations will then treat with us, which they never can
do while we acknowledge ourselves subjects in arms
against our sovereign. Nay, I maintain that England
herself will sooner treat for peace with us on the footing
of independence, than consent, by repealing her acts, to
acknowledge that her whole conduct towards us has
been a course of injustice and oppression.
7. Her pride will be less wounded by submitting to
that course of things which now predestinates our inde-
pendence, than by yielding the points in controversy to
her rebellious subjects. The former she would regard
as the result of fortune ; the latter she would feel as her
own deep disgrace. Why then, why then, sir, do we
not as soon as possible change this from a civil to a
national war ? And since we must fight it through, why
not put ourselves in a state to enjoy all the benefits of
victory, if we gain the victory ?
8. If we fail, it can be no worse for us. But we
shall not fail. The cause will raise up armies; the
cause will create navies. The people, the people, if we
are true to them, will carry us, and will carry them-
selves, gloriously through this struggle. I care not how
fickle other people have been found. I know the peo-
ple of these colonies, and I know that resistance to
[Chap. II.] SUPPOSED SPEECH OF JOHN ADAMS. 51
British aggression is deep and settled in their hearts,
and cannot be eradicated. Every colony, indeed, has ex-
pressed its willingness to follow, if we but take the lead.
9. Sir, the Declaration will inspire the people with
increased courage. Instead of a long and bloody war
for the restoration of privileges, for redress of griev-
ances, for chartered immunities held under a British king,
set before them the glorious object of entire independ-
ence and it will breathe into them anew the breath of life.
10. Bead this Declaration at the head of the army;
ever}'- sword will be drawn from its scabbard, and the
solemn vow uttered, to maintain it, or to perish on the
bed of honor. Publish it from the pulpit ; religion will
approve it, and the love of religious liberty will cling
round it, resolved to stand with it, or fall with it.
Send it to the public halls ; proclaim it there ; let them
hear it who heard the first roar of the enemy's cannon ;
let them see it who saw their brothers and their sons
fall on the field of Bunker Hill, and in the streets of
Lexington and Concord, and the very walls will cry out
in its support.
11. Sir, 1 know the uncertainty of human affairs, but
I see, I see clearly through this day's business. You
and I, indeed, may rue it. We may not live to the time
when this Declaration shall be made good. We may
die ; die colonists ; die slaves ; die, it may be, ignomini-
ously, and on the scaffold. Be it so. Be it so. If it
be the pleasure of Heaven that my country shall require
52 EVOLUTION OF EXPEESSION. [Vol. II.]
the poor offering of my life, the victim shall be ready
at the appointed hour of sacrifice, come when that hour
may. But while I do live, let me have a country, or at
least the hope of a country, and that a free country.
12. But whatever may be our fate, be assured, be
assured that this Declaration will stand. It may cost
treasure and it may cost blood ; but it will stand, and
it will richly compensate for both. Through the thick
gloom of the present, I see the brightness of the future
as the sun in heaven. We shall make this a glorious,
an immortal day. When we are in our graves, our
children will honor it. They will celebrate it with
thanksgiving, with festivity, with bonfires, and illumi-
nations. On its annual return, they will shed tears,
copious, gushing tears, not of subjection and slavery,
not of agony and distress, but of exultation, of grati-
tude, and of joy.
13. Sir, before God, I believe the hour is come. My
judgment approves this measure, and my whole heart
is in it. All that I have, and all that I am, and all that
I hope in this life, I am now ready here to stake upon
it ; and I leave off as I began, that, live or die, survive
or perish, I am for the Declaration. It is my living
sentiment, and by the blessing of God it shall be my
dying sentiment, — independence now, and independ-
[Chap. II.] LIFE AND SONG. 63
LIFE AND SONG.
If life were caught by a clarionet,
And a wild heart throbbing in the reed.
Should thrill its joy and trill its fret,
And utter its heart in every deed,
Then would this breathing clarionet
Type what the poet fain would be ;
For none o' the singers ever yet
Has wholly lived his minstrelsy ;
Or clearly sung his true, true thought ;
Or utterly bodied forth his life,
Or out of life and song has wrought
The perfect one of man and wife i
Or lived and sung, that Life and Song
Might each express the other's all.
Careless if life or art were long
Since both were one, to stand or fall:
So that the wonder struck the crowd.
Who shouted it about the land :
His song was only living aloud.
His work, a singing with his hand !
54 EVOLUTION OF EXPRESSION. [Vol. II.]
GATHERING SONG OF DONALD THE BLACK.
Pibroch of Donuil Dhu
Pibroch of Donuil
Wake thy wild voice anew,
Summon Clan Conuil.
Come away, come away,
Hark to the summons I
Come in your war-array,
Gentles and commons.
Come from deep glen, and
From mountain so rocky ;
The war-pipe and pennon
Are at Inverlocky.
Come every hill-plaid, and
True heart that wears one.
Come every steel blade, and
Strong hand that bears one.
Leave untended the herd,
The flock without shelter 5
Leave the corpse uninterr'd,
The bride at the altar ;
Leave the deer, leave the steer.
Leave nets and barges :
Come with your fighting gear,
Broadswords and targes.
[Chap. 11. 3 NUTTING. 55
Come as the winds come, when
Forests are rended,
Come as the waves come, when
Navies are stranded :
Faster come, faster come,
Faster and faster.
Chief, vassal, page and groom,
Tenant and master.
Fast they come, fast they come ;
See how they gather I
Wide waves the eagle plume
Blended with heather.
Cast your plaids, draw your blades,
Forward each man set I
Pibroch of Donuil Dhu
Knell for the onset I
Sib WALTiSR Scott.
It seems a day
(I speak of one from many singled out)
One of those heavenly days that cannot die ;
When, in the eagerness of boyish hope,
I left our cottage-threshold, sallying forth
With 9> huge wallet o'er my shoulders slung,
56 EVOLUTION OF EXPRESSION. [Vol. II;]
A nutting-crook in hand; and turned my steps
Tow'rd some far-distant wood, a Figure quaint,
Tricked out in proud disguise of cast-off weeds
Which for that service had been husbanded,
By exhortation of my frugal Dame —
Motley accoutrement, of power to smile
At thorns, and brakes, and brambles, — and, in truth,
More ragged than need was !
O'er pathless rocks,
Through beds of matted fern, and tangled thickets,
Forcing my way, I came to one dear nook
Unvisited, where not a broken bough
Drooped with its withered leaves, ungracious sign
Of devastation ; but the hazels rose
Tall and erect, with tempting clusters hung,
A virgin scene I — A little while I stood.
Breathing with such suppression of the heart
As joy delights in ; and, with wise restraint
Voluptuous, fearless of a rival, eyed
The banquet ; — or beneath the trees I sate
Among the flowers, and with the flowers I played;
A temper known to those, who, after long
And weary expectation, have been blest
With sudden happiness beyond all hope.
Perhaps it was a bower beneath whose leaves
The violets of five seasons re-appear
And fade, unseen by any human eye^
[Chap. II.] NUTTING. 67
Where fairy water-breaks do murmur on
Forever ; and I saw the sparkling foam,
And — with my cheek on one of those green stones
That, fleeced with moss, under the shady trees,
Lay round me, scattered like a flock of sheep —
I heard the murmur and the murmuring sound,
In that sweet mood when pleasure loves to pay
Tribute to ease ; and, of its joy secure,
The heart luxuriates with indifferent things,
Wasting its kindliness on stocks and stones,
And on the vacant air.
Then up I rose,
And dragged to earth both branch and bough, with crash
And merciless ravage; and the shady nook
Of hazels, and the green and mossy bower,
Deformed and sullied, patiently gave up
Their quiet being : and, unless I now
Confound my present feelings with the past ;
Ere from the mutilated bower I turned
Exulting, rich beyond the wealth of kings,
I felt a sense of pain when I beheld
The silent trees, and saw the intruding sky —
Then, dearest Maiden, move along these shades
In gentleness of heart ; with gentle hand
Touch — for there is a spirit in the woods.
58 EVOLUTION OF EXPEESSION. [VoL IL]
THE DODSON FAMILY.
From Mill on the Floss.
1. The Dodsons were certainly a handsome family,
and Mrs. Glegg was not the least handsome of the
sisters. As she sat in Mrs. Tulliver's arm-chair, no
impartial observer could have denied that for a woman
of fifty she had a very comely face and figure. It is
true she despised the advantages of costume, for though,
as she often observed, no woman had better clothes, it
was not her way to wear her new things out before her
old ones. Other women, if they liked, might have
their best thread-lace in every wash ; but when Mrs.
Glegg died, it would be found that she had better lace
laid by in the right-hand drawer of her wardrobe, in
the Spotted Chamber, than ever Mrs. Wooll of St. Ogg's
had bought in her life, although Mrs. Wooll wore her
l^ce before it was paid for.
2. So of her curled fronts ; to look out on the week-
day world from under a crisp and glossy front, would
be to introduce a most dreamlike and unpleasant con-
fusion between the sacred and the secular. Occasion-
ally, indeed, Mrs. Glegg wore one of her third-best
fronts on a week-day visit, but not at a sister's house ;
especially not at Mrs. TuUiver's, who, since her
marriage, had hurt her sisters' feelings greatly by
wearing her own hair. But Bessy was always weak I
[Chap. II.] THE DODSON FAMILY. 69
3. So if Mrs. Glegg's front to-day was more fuzzy
and lax than usual, she had a design under it : she in-
tended the most pointed and cutting allusion to Mrs.
Tulliver's bunches of blond curls, separated from each
other by a due wave of smoothness on each side of the
parting. Mrs. TuUiver had shed tears several times
at sister Glegg's unkindness on the subject of
these unmatronly curls, but the consciousness of look-
ing the handsomer for them, naturally administered
4. Mrs. Glegg chose to wear her bonnet in the house
to-day — untied and tilted slightly, of course — a fre-
quent practice of hers when she was on a visit, and
happened to be in a severe humor: she didn't know
what draughts there might be in strange houses. For
the same reason she wore a small sable tippet, which
reached just to her shoulders, and was very far from
meeting across her well-formed chest, while her long
neck was protected by a chevaux-de-frise of miscel-
laneous frilling. One would need to be learned in the
fashions of those times to know how far in the rear of
them Mrs. Glegg's slate-colored silk gown must have
been ; but from certain constellations of small yellow
spots upon it, and a mouldy odor about it suggestive
of a damp clothes-chest, it was probable that it be-
longed to a stratum of garments just old enough to
have come recently into wear.
6. Mrs. Glegg held her large gold watch in her hand
60 EVOLUTION OF EXPRESSION* [Vol. II.]
with the many-doubled chain round her fingers, and
observed to Mrs. Tulliver, who had just returned from
a visit to the kitchen, that whatever it might be by
other people's clocks and watches, it was gone half-past
twelve by hers.
6. " I don't know what ails sister Pullet," she con-
tinued. " It used to be the way in our family for one
to be as early as another, — I'm sure it was so in my
poor father's time, — and not for one sister to sit half
an hour before the others came. But if the ways o'
the family are altered, it shan't be my fault — Til
never be the one to come into a house when all the
rest are going away. I wonder at sister Deane — she
used to be more like me. But if you'll take my
advice, Bessy, you'll put the dinner forrard a bit,
sooner than put it back, because folks are late as
ought to ha' known better."
7. " Oh dear, there's no fear but what they'll be all
here in time, sister," said Mrs. Tulliver, in her mild-
peevish tone. " The dinner won't be ready till half-
past one. But if its long for you to wait, let me fetch
you a cheesecake and a glass o' wine."
" Well, Bessy ! " said Mrs. Glegg, with a bitter
smile, and a scarcely perceptible toss of her head, " I
should ha' thought j^ou'd known your own sister better.
I never did eat between meals, and I'm not going to
begin. Not but what I hate that nonsense of having
your dinner at half-past one, when you might have it
[Chap. II.] THE DODSON FAIiIILY. 61
at one. You was never brought up in that way,
8. "Why, Jane, what can I do? Mr. Tulliver
doesn't like his dinner before two o'clock, but I put it
half an hour earlier because o' you."
" Yes, yes, I know how it is with husbands — they're
for putting everything off — they'll put the dinner off
till after tea, if they've got wives as are weak enough
to give in to such work ; but it's a pity for you, Bessy,
as you haven't got more strength o' mind. It'll be
well if your children don't suffer for it. And I hope
you've not gone and got a great dinner for us. A
boiled joint, as you could make broth of for the
kitchen," Mrs. Glegg added, in a tone of emphatic
protest, " and a plain pudding, with a spoonful o'
sugar, and no spice, 'ud be far more becoming."
9. With sister Glegg in this humor, there was a
cheerful prospect for the day. Mrs. Tulliver never
went the length of quarrelling with her, but this point
of the dinner was a tender one, and not at all new, so
that she could make the same answer she had often
" Mr. Tulliver says he always will have a good
dinner for his friends while he can pay for it," she
said, " and he's a right to do as he likes in his own
10. " Well, Bessy, I can't leave your children enough
out o' my savings, to keep 'em from ruin. And you
62 EVOLUTION OF EXPEESSION. [Vol. II.]
mustn't look to having any o' Mr. Glegg's money, for
it's well if I don't go first — he comes of a long-lived
family ; and if he was to die and leave me well for my
life, he'd tie all the money up to go back to his own
11. The sound of wheels while Mrs. Glegg was speak-
ing was an interruption highly welcome to Mrs. Tulliver,
who hastened out to receive sister Pullet — it must be
sister Pullet, because the sound was that of a four-
1. Sister Pullet was in tears when the one-horse
chaise stopped before Mrs. Tulliver's door, and it was
apparently requisite that she should shed a few more
before getting out, for though her husband and Mrs.
Tulliver stood ready to support her, she sat still and
shook her head sadly, as she looked through her tears
at the vague distance. " Why, whativer is the matter,
sister ? " said Mrs. Tulliver.
2. There was no reply but a further shake of the
head, as Mrs. Pullet slowly rose and got down from
the chaise, not without casting a glance at Mr. Pullet
to see that he was guarding her handsome silk dress
from injury. Mr. Pullet was a small man with a high
nose, small twinkling eyes, and thin lips, in a fresh-
looking suit of black and a white cravat, that seemed
[Chap. II.] THE DODSON FAMILY. 63
to have been tied very tight on some higher principle
than that of mere personal ease.
3. It is a pathetic sight and a striking example of
the complexity introduced into the emotions by a high
state of civilization — the sight of a fashionably drest
female in grief. Perceiving that the tears are hurrying
fast, she unpins her strings and throws them languidly
backward — a touching gesture, indicative, even in the
deepest gloom, of the hope in future dry moments
when cap-strings will once more have a charm.
4. Mrs. Pullet brushed each doorpost with great nicety,
about the latitude of her shoulders (at that period a
woman was truly ridiculous to an instructed eye if she
did not measure a yard and a half across the shoulders),
and having done that, sent the muscles of her face in
quest of fresh tears as she advanced into the parlor
where Mrs. Glegg was seated.
6. " Well, sister, you're late ; what's the matter ? "
said Mrs. Glegg, rather sharply, as they shook hands.
Mrs. Pullet sat down — lifting up her mantle care-
fully behind, before she answered — -
" She's gone. Died the day before yesterday, an'
her legs was as thick as my body," she added, with deep
sadness, after a pause. " They'd tapped her no end o'
times, and the water — they say you might ha' swum
in it, if you'd liked."
6. " Well, Sophy, it's a mercy she's gone, then, who-
ever she may be," said Mrs. Glegg, with the promptitude
64 EVOLUTION OF EXPRESSION. [Vol. II.]
and emphasis of a mind naturally clear and de-
cided ; " but I can't think who you're talking of, for
" But /know," said Mrs. Pullet, sighing and shaking
her head ; " and there isn't another such a dropsy in
the parish. I know as its old Mrs. Sutton o' the
" Well, she's no kin o' yours, nor much acquaintance
as I've ever heared of," said Mrs. Glegg, who always
cried just as much as was proper when anything hap-
pened to her own " kin," but not on other occasions.
7. "She said to me, when I went to see her last
Christmas, she said, ' Mrs. Pullet, if ever you have the
dropsy, you'll think o' me.' She did say so," added
Mrs. Pullet, beginning to cry bitterly again; "those
were her very words. And she's to be Jburied o'
Saturday, and Pullet's bid to the funeral."
" Sophy," said Mrs. Glegg, unable any longer to
contain her spirit of rational remonstrance — " Sophy,
I wonder at you, fretting and injuring your health
about people as don't belong to you. Your poor father
never did so, nor your aunt Frances neither, nor any o'
the family as I ever heard of. You couldn't fret no
more than this, if we'd heared as our cousin Abbott had
died sudden without making his will."
8. Mrs. Pullet was silent, having to finish her cry-
ing, and rather flattered than indignant at being up-
braided for crying too much.
[Chap. II.] THE DODSON FAMILY. 65
" Ah ! " she sighed, shaking her head at the idea
that there were but few who could enter fully into her
experiences. " Sister, I may as well go and take my
bonnet off now. Did you see as the cap-box was put
out ? " she added, turning to her husband.
Mr. Pullet, by an unaccountable lapse of memory,
had forgotten it, and hastened out, with a stricken
conscience, to remedy the omission.
9. " They'll bring it up-stairs, sister," said Mrs. TuUi-
ver, wishing to go at once, for she was fond of going
up-stairs with her sister Pullet, and looking thoroughly
at her cap before she put it on her head, and discussing
millinery in general. This was part of Bessy's weak-
ness, that stirred Mrs. Glegg's sisterly compassion:
Bessy went far too well drest, considering.
But when Mrs. Pullet was alone with Mrs. Tulliver
up-stairs, the remarks were naturally to the disadvan-
tage of Mrs. Glegg, and they agreed, in confidence,
that there was no knowing what sort of fright sister
Jane would come out next.
66 EVOLUTION OF EXPRESSION. [Vol. II. 1
AFTER THE MARCH RAIN.
The Cock is crowing,
The stream is flowing,
The small birds twitter,
The lake doth glitter,
The green field sleeps in the sun ;
The oldest and youngest
Are at work with the strongest ;
The cattle are grazing,
Their heads never raising ;
There are forty feeding like one I
Like an army defeated
The snow hath retreated,
And now doth fare ill
On the top of the bare hill ;
The ploughboy is whooping — anon — anon
There's joy in the mountains ;
There's life in the fountains ;
Small clouds are sailing.
Blue sky prevailing ;
The rain is over and gone !
SLIDE IN VOLUME.
FIRST BATTLES OF THE REVOLUTION.
1. We have caus6 for honest complacency, that
when the distant citizen of our own republic, when the
stranger from foreign lands, inquires for the spots
where the noble blood of the Revolution began to flow,
where the first battle of that great and glorious contest
was fought, he is guided through the villages of Middle-
sex, to the plains of Lexington and Concord. It is a
commemoration of our soil, to which ages, as they pass,
will add dignity and interest ; till the names of Lexing-
ton and Concord in the annals of freedom, will stand
by the side of the most honorable names in Roman or
2. It was one of those great days, one of those ele-
mental occasions in the world's affairs, when the people
rise and act for themselves. Some organization and
preparation had been made ; but from the nature of the
case, with scarce any effect on the events of that day.
68 EVOLUTION OP EXPRESSION. [Vol. II.]
3. It may be doubted whether there was an efficient
order given, the whole day, to any body of men as large
as a regiment. It was the people, in their first capacity,
as citizens and as freemen, starting from their beds at
midnight, from their firesides and from their fields, to
take their own cause into their own hands.
4. Such a spectacle is the height of the moral sub-
lime ; when the want of everything is fully made up by
the spirit of the cause, and the soul within stands in
place of discipline, organization, and resources. In the
prodigious efforts of a veteran army, beneath the daz-
zling splendor of their array, there is something revolt-
ing to the reflective mind.
5. The ranks are filled with the desperate, the mer-
cenary, the depraved ; an iron slavery, by the name of
subordination, merges the free will of one hundred
thousand men in the unqualified despotism of one;
the humanity, mercy, and remorse, which scarce ever
desert the individual bosom, are sounds without a
meaning to that fearful, ravenous, irrational monster
of prey, a mercenary army. It is hard to say who are
most to be commiserated, the wretched people on whom
it is let loose, or the still more wretched people whose
substance has been sucked out to nourish it into
strength and fury.
6. But in the efforts of the people, — of the people
struggling for their rights, moving, not in organized,
disciplined masses, but in their spontaneous action, man
[Chap. III.] FIRST BATTLES OF THE BEVOLUTION. 69
for man, and heart for heart, — there is something glo-
rious. They can then move forward without orders,
act together without combination, and brave the flam-
ing lines of battle, without intrenchments to cover or
walls to shield them.
7. No dissolute camp has worn off from the feelings
of the youthful soldier the freshness of that home, where
his mother and his sister sit waiting, with tearful eyes
and aching hearts, to hear good news from the wars ;
no long service in the ranks of a conqueror has turned
the veteran's heart into marble ; their valor springs not
from recklessness, from habit, from indifference to the
preservation of a life knit by no pledges to the life of
others. But in the strength and spirit of the cause
alone they act, they contend, they bleed. In this they
8. The people always conquer. They always must
conquer. Armies may be defeated, kings may be over-
thrown, and new dynasties imposed, by foreign arms,
on an ignorant and slavish race, that care not in what
language the covenant of their subjection runs, nor in
whose name the deed of their barter and sale is made
out. But the people never invade ; and, when they
rise against the invader, are never subdued.
9. If they are driven from the plains, they fly to the
mountains. Steep rocks and everlasting hills are their
castles ; the tangled, pathless thicket their palisado,
and God is their ally. Now he overwhelms the hosts
70 EVOLUTION OF EXPRESSION. [Vol. II.]
of their enemies beneath his drifting mountains of sand ;
now he buries them beneath a falling atmosphere of
polar snows ; he lets loose his tempests on their fleets ;
he puts a folly into their counsels, a madness into the
hearts of their leaders ; and never gave, and never will
give, a final triumph over a virtuous and gallant people,
resolved to be free.
THE ANTIQUITY OF FREEDOM.
Here are old trees — tall oaks and gnarled pines —
That stream with gray-green mosses ; here the ground
Was never trenched by spade, and flowers spring up
Unsown, and die ungathered.
It is sweet
To linger here, among the flitting birds
And leaping squirrels, wandering brooks, and winds
That shake the leaves, and scatter as they pass,
A fragrance from the cedars, thickly set
With pale blue berries. In these peaceful shades —
Peaceful, unpruned, immeasurably old —
My thoughts go up the long, dim path of years,
Back to the earliest days of liberty.
[Chap. III.] THE ANTIQUITY OF FEBEDOM. 71
O Freedom, thou art not, as poets dream,
A fair young girl, with light and delicate limbs,
And wavy tresses, gushing from the cap
With which the Roman master crowned his slave
When he took off the gyves. A bearded man.
Armed to the teeth, art thou ; one mailed hand
Grasps the broad shield, and one the sword ; thy brow.
Glorious in beauty though it be, is scarred
With tokens of old wars ; thy massive limbs
Are strong with struggling.
Power at thee has launched
His bolts, and with his lightnings smitten thee ;
They could not quench the life thou hast from Heaven.
Merciless power has dug thy dungeon deep.
And his swart armorers, by a thousand fires.
Have forged thy chain ; yet while he deems thee bound,
The links are shivered, and the prison walls
Fall outward ; terribly thou springest forth,
As springs the flame above a burning pile
And shoutest to the nations, who return ,
Thy shoutings, while the pale oppressor flies.
Thy birthright was not given by human hands ;
Thou wert twin-born with man. In pleasant fields,
While yet our race was few, thou sat'st with him.
To tend the quiet flock, and watch the stars,
And teach the reed to utter simple airs.
72 EVOLUTION OF EXPRESSION. [Vol. II.]
Thou, by his side, amid the tangled wood,
Didst war upon the panther and the wolf.
His only foes ; and thou with him didst draw
The earliest furrows on the mountain-side,
Soft with the deluge,
Thy enemy, although of reverend look.
Hoary with many years, and far obeyed.
Is later born than thou ; and as he meets
The grave defiance of thine elder eye.
The usurper trembles in his fastnesses.
O, not yet
Mayst thou unbrace thy corselet, nor lay by
Thy sword ; nor yet, O Freedom, close thy lids
In slumber ; for thine enemy never sleeps.
And thou must watch and combat till the day
Of the new earth and heaven.
But would st thou rest
Awhile from tumult and the frauds of men.
These old and friendly solitudes invite
Thy visit. They, while yet the forest trees
Were young upon the unviolated earth.
And yet the moss-stains on the rock were new,
Beheld thy glorious childhood, and rejoiced.
"^ILLIAM CXJLLEN BbYANT.
[Chap. III.] NATIONAL BANKRUPTCY. 73
FROM A SPEECH BEFORE THE NATIONAL CONVENTION
OF FRANCE, 1789.
1. I hear much said of patriotism, appeals to patriot-
ism, transports of patriotism. Gentlemen, why prosti-
tute this noble world ? Is it so very magnanimous to
give up a part of your income in order to save your
whole property ? This is very simple arithmetic ; and
he that hesitates, deserves contempt rather than indig-
2. Yes, gentlemen, it is to your immediate self-in-
terest, to your most familiar notions of prudence and
policy that I now appeal. I say not to you now, as
heretofore, beware how you give the world the first ex-
ample of an assembled nation untrue to the public faith.
3. I ask you not, as heretofore, what right you have
to freedom, or what means of maintaining it, if, at your
first step in administration, you outdo in baseness all
the old and corrupt governments. I tell you, that
unless you prevent this catastrophe, you will all be in-
volved in the general ruin ; and that you are yourselves
the persons most deeply interested in making the sacri-
fices which the government demands of you.
4. I exhort you, then, most earnestly, to vote these
extraordinary supplies ; and God grant they may prove
sufficient ! Vote, then, I beseech you ; for, even if you
doubt the expediency of the means, you know perfectly
74 EVOLUTION OF EXPRESSION. [Vol. II.]
well that the supplies are necessary, and that you are
incapable of raising them in any other way. Vote them
at once, for the crisis does not admit of delay ; and, if
it occurs, we must be responsible for the consequences.
5. Beware of asking for time. Misfortune accords
it never. While you are lingering, the evil day will
come upon you. Why, gentlemen, it is but a few days
since, that upon occasion of some foolish bustle in the
Palais Royal, some ridiculous insurrection that existed
nowhere but in the heads of a few weak or designing
individuals, we were told with emphasis, " Catiline is
at the gates of Rome, and yet we deliberate."
6. We know, gentlemen, that this was all imagina-
tion. We are far from being at Rome ; nor is there
any Catiline at the gates of Paris. But now are we
threatened with a real danger ; bankruptcy, national
bankruptcy, is before you ; it threatens to swallow up
your persons, your property, your honor, — and yet
THE LANTERN BEARERS.
1, These boys congregated every autumn about a cer-
tain easterly fisher- village, where they tasted in a high
degree the glory of existence. The place was created
seemingly on purpose for the diversion of young gen-
tlemen. A street or two of houses, mostly red and
many of them tiled ; a number of fine trees clustered
[Chap. III.] THE LANTEEN BEAEEES. T5
about the manse and the kirkyard, and turning the
chief street into a shady alley ; many little gardens more
than usually bright with flowers; nets a-drying, and
fisher-wives scolding in the backward parts ; a smell of
fish, a genial smell of seaweed ; whiffs of blowing sand
at the street corners : shops with golf-balls and bottled
lollipops ; such, as well as memory serves me, were the
ingredients of the town.
2. These, you are to conceive posted on a spit be-
tween two sandy bays, and sparsely flanked with villas
— enough for the boys to lodge in with their subsidiary
parents, not enough (not yet enough) to cocknify the
scene ; a haven in the rocks in front : in front of that,
a file of gray islets ; to the left, endless links and sand
wreaths, a wilderness of hiding-holes, alive with pop-
ping rabbits and soaring gulls : Ifco the right, a range
of seaward crags, one rugged brow beyond another;
the ruins of a mighty and ancient fortress on the brink
of one; coves between — now charmed into sunshine
quiet, now whistling with wind and clamorous with
bursting surges ; the dens and sheltered hollows redo-
lent of thyme and southernwood, the air at the cliff's
edge brisk and clean and pungent of the sea — in front
of all, the Bass Rock, tilted seaward like a doubtful
bather, the surf ringing it with white, the solan-geese
hanging round its summit like a great and glittering
3. This choice piece of seaboard was sacred, besides,
76 EVOLUTION OF EXPRESSION. [Vol. II.]
to the wrecker ; and the Bass, in the eye of fancy, still
flew the colors of King James ; and in the ear of fancy
the arches of Tantallon still rang with horse-shoe iron,
and echoed to the commands of Bell -— the — Cat.
4. ... But what my memory dwells upon the most
was a sport peculiar to the place, and indeed to a week
or so of our two months' holiday there. Maybe it still
flourishes in its native spot ; for boys and their pastimes
are swayed by periodic forces inscrutable to man ; so
that tops and marbles reappear in their due season,
regular like the sun and moon ; and the harmless art of
knuckle-bones has seen the fall of the Roman empire
and the rise of the United States.
5. It may still flourish in its native spot, but nowhere
else, I am persuaded ; for I tried myself to introduce it
on Tweed-side, and was defeated lamentably ; its charm
being quite local, like a country wine that cannot be
6. The idle manner of it was this : Toward the end of
September, when school-time was drawing near and the
nights were already black, we would begin to sally
from our respective villas, each equipped with a tin
bnll's-eye lantern. The thing was so well known that
it had worn a rut in the commerce of Great Britain ;
and the grocers, about the due time, began to garnish
their windows with our particular brand of luminary.
We wore them buckled to the waist upon a cricket
belt, and over them, such was the rigour of the game,
[Chap. III.] THE LANTERN BEAREES. 77
a buttoned top-coat. They smelled noisomely of blis-
tered tin ; they never burned aright, though they would
always burn our fingers ; their use was naught ; the
pleasure of them merely fanciful ; and yet a boy with a
bull's-eye under his top-coat asked for nothing more.
y" 7. The fishermen used lanterns about their boats, and
it was from them, I suppose, that we had got the hint ;
but theirs were not bull's-eyes, nor did we ever play
at being fishermen. The police carried them at their
belts, and we had plainly copied them in that ; yet we
did not pretend to be policemen. Burglars, indeed, we
may have had some haunting thoughts of ; and we had
certainly an eye to past ages when lanterns were more
common, and to~~certain story-books in which we had
found them to figure very largely. But take it for all
in all, the pleasure of the thing was substantive, and to
be a boy with a bull's-eye under his top-coat was good
enough for us.
8. When two of these asses met, there would be an
anxious " Have you got your lantern?" and a gratified
" Yes ! " That was the shibboleth, and very needful
too I for, as it was the rule to keep our glory contained,
none could recognize a lantern bearer, unless (like the
pole-cat) by the smell. Four or five would sometimes
climb into the belly of a ten-man lugger, with nothing
but the thwarts above them — for the cabin was usually
locked, or choose out some hollow of the links where
the wind might whistle overhead. There the coats
78 EVOLUTION OF EXPRESSION. [Vol. II.]
would be unbuttoned and the bull's-eyes discovered;
and in the chequering glimmer, under the huge windy
hall of the night, and cheered by a rich steam of toast-
ing tinware, these fortunate young gentlemen would
crouch together in the cold sands of the links or on the
scaly bilges of the fishing-boat, and delight themselves
with inappropriate talk.
9. Woe is me that I may not give some specimens —
some of their foresights of life, or deep inquiries into
the rudiments of man and nature, these were so fiery
and so innocent, they were so richly silly, so romanti-
cally young. But the talk at any rate was but a
condiment ; and these gatherings themselves only acci-
dents in the career of the lantern bearer. The essence
of this bliss was to walk by youi*self in the black night ;
the slide shut, the top-coat buttoned ; not a ray escaping,
whether to conduct your footsteps or to make your
glory public : a mere pillar of darkness in the dark ;
and all the while, deep down in the privacy of your
fool's heart, to know you had a bull's-eye at your belt,
and to exult and sing over the knowledge.
Robert Louis Stevenson.
Woe : lightly to part with one's soul as the sea with its
Woe to Tarpeia, Tarpeia, daughter of Rome I
[Chap. III.] TAEPEIA. 79
Lo, now it was night, with the moon looking chill as
It was morn when the innocent stranger strayed into
The hostile Sabini were pleased, as one meshing a bird ;
She sang for them there in the ambush : they smiled as
Her sombre hair purpled in gleams, as she leaned to the
All day she had idled and feasted, and now it was night.
The chief sat apart, heavy-browed, brooding elbow on
The armlets he wore were thrice royal, and wondrous
Exquisite artifice, work of barbaric design.
Frost's fixdd mimicry ; orbic imaginings fine
In sevenfold coils : and in orient glimmer from them,
The variform voluble swinging of gem upon gem.
And the glory thereof sent fever and fire to her eye.
" I had never such trinkets ! " she sighed, — like a lute
was her sigh.
" Were they mine at the plea, were they mine for the
token, all told.
Now the citadel sleeps, now my father the keeper is
80 EVOLUTION OF EXPRESSION. [Vol. II.]
" If I go by the way that I know, and thou folio west
If yet at the touch of Tarpeia the gates be unbarred ? "
The chief trembled sharply for joy, then drew rein on
" Of all this arm beareth I swear I will cede thee the
And up from the nooks of the camp, with hoarse plau-
The bearded Sabini glanced hotly, and vowed as they
Bare-stretching the wrists that bore also the glowing
great boon :
" Yea ! surely as over us shine th the lurid low moon,
" Not alone of our lord, but of each of us take what he
Too poor is the guerdon, if thou wilt but show us the
path ! "
Her nostril upraised, like a fawn's on the arrowy air.
She sped, in a serpentine gleam to the precipice stair.
They climbed in her traces, they closed on their evil
swift star :
She bent to the latches, and swung the huge portal
Repulsed where they passed her, half-tearful for wounded
[Chap. III.] TAKPEIA. 81
" The bracelets ! " she pleaded. Then faced her, the
Arid answered her : " Even as I promised, maid-mer-
chant, I do."
Down from his dark shoulder the baubles he sullenly
" This left arm shall nothing begrudge thee. Accept.
Find it sweet.
Give, too, O my brothers ! " The jewels he flung at
The jewels hard heavy ; she stooped to them, flushing
But the shield he flung after : it clanged on her beauti-
Like the Apennine bells when the villagers* warnings
Athwart the first lull broke the ominous din upon din ;
With a " Hail, benefactress ! " upon her they heaped in
Death : agate and iron ; death : chrysoprase, beryl and
'Neath the outcry of scorn, 'neath the sinewy tension
The moaning died slowly, and still they massed over
82 EVOLUTION OF EXPRESSION. [Vol. II.]
A mountain of shields ! and the gemmy hight tangle in
A torrent-like gush, pouring out on the grass from the
Pyramidal gold ! the sumptuous monument won
By the deed they had loved her for, doing, and loathed
her for, done.
Such was the wage that they paid her, such the acclaim :
All Rome was aroused with the thunder that buried her
On surged the Sabini to battle. O you that aspire !
Tarpeia the traitor had fill of her woman's desire.
Woe : lightly to part with one's soul as the sea with its
Woe to Tarpeia, Tarpeia, daughter of Rome !
Louise Imogen Guiney.
Hear the sledges with the bells —
What a world of merriment their melody foretells I
How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle,
In the icy air of night I
[Chap. III.] THE BELLS. 83
While the stars that oversprinkle
All the heavens, seem to twinkle
With a crystalline delight,
Keeping, time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme.
To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells
From the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells —
From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.
Hear the mellow wedding bells,
Golden bells !
What a world of happiness their harmony foretells I
Through the balmy air of night
How they ring out their delight I
From the molten-golden notes,
All in tune.
What a liquid ditty floats
To the turtle dove that listens, while she gloats
, On the moon !
Oh, from out the sounding cells,
What a gush of euphony voluminously wells I
How it swells.
How it dwells
On the Future ! how it tells
Of the rapture that impels
To the swinging and the ringing
Of the bells, bells, bells,
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells.
Bells, bells, bells —
To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells !
84 EVOLUTION OF EXPKESSION. [Vol. II.]
Hear the loud alarum bells —
Brazen bells !
What a tale of terror now, their turbalency tells !
In the startled air of night
How they scream out their affright I
Too much horrified to speak,
They can only shriek, shriek,
Out of tune.
In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire.
In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire,
Leaping higher, higher, higher,
With a desperate desire.
And a resolute endeavor
Now — now to sit, or never,
By the side of the pale-faced moon.
Oh, the bells, bells, bells !
What a tale their terror tells
Of despair !
How they clang, and clash, and roar I
What a horror they outpour
On the bosom of the palpitating air I
Yet the ear, it fully knows.
By the twanging
And the clanging.
How the danger ebbs and flows ;
Yet the ear distinctly tells.
In the jangling
And the wrangling,
How the danger sinks and swells.
By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the
[Chap. III.] THE BELLS. 85
Of the bells —
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells —
In the clamor and the clangor of the bells !
Hear the tolling of the bells —
Iron bells I
What a world of solemn thought their monody compels
In the silence of the night.
How we shiver with affright
With the melancholy menace of their tone !
For every sound that floats
From the rust within their throats
Is a groan.
And the people — ah, the people —
They that dwell up in the steeple,
And who tolling, tolling, tolling.
In that muffled monotone,
Feel a glory in so rolling
On the human heart a stone —
They are neither man nor woman —
They are neither brute nor human —
They are Ghouls :
And their king it is who tolls ;
And he rolls, rolls, rolls,
A paean from the bells !
And his merry bosom swells
With the paean of the bells I
86 EVOLUTION OF EXPRESSION. [Vol. II.]
And he dances, and he yells,
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme.
To the paean of the bells —
Of the bells:
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme.
To the throbbing of the bells —
Of the bells, bells, bells —
To the sobbing of the belLs,
Keeping time, time, time.
As he knells, knells, knells,
In a happy Runic rhyme.
To the rolling of the bells —
Of the bells, bells, bells.
To the tolling of the bells —
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells ;
Bells, bells, bells —
To the moaning and the groaning of the bells !
E. A. PoE.
THE TEMPERANCE QUESTION.
1. Some men look upon this temperance cause as a
whining bigotry, narrow asceticism, or a vulgar senti-
mentality, fit for little minds, weak women, and weaker
men. On the contrary, I regard it as second only to
one or two others of the primary reforms of the age, and
for this reason : every race has its peculiar temptation ;
every clime has its specific sin.
[Chap. III.] THE TEMPERANCE QUESTION. 87
2. The tropics and tropical races are tempted to one
form of sensuality ; the colder and temperate regions,
and our Saxon blood, find their peculiar temptation in
the stimulus of drink and food. In old times our
heaven was a drunken revel. We relieve ourselves
from the ever- weariness of constant and exhausting
toil by intoxication. Science has brought a cheap
means of drunkenness within the reach of every in-
3. National prosperity and free institutions have put
into the hands of almost every workman the means of
being drunk for a v/eek on the labor of two or three
hours. With that blood and that temptation, we have
adopted democratic institutions, where the law has no
sanctions but the purpose and virtue of the masses.
The statute book rests not on bayonets, as in Europe,
but on the hearts of the people.
4. A drunken people can never be the basis of a free
government. It is the corner-stone neither of virtue,
prosperity, nor progress. To us, therefore, the title-
deeds of whose estates, and the safety of whose lives
depend upon the tranquility of the streets, upon the
virtue of the masses, the presence of any vice which
brutalizes the average mass of mankind, and tends to
make it more readily the tool of intriguing and corrupt
leaders, is necessarily a stab at the very life of the
nation. Against such a vice is marshalled the Temper-
88 EVOLUTION OP EXPRESSION. [Vol. II.]
5. That my sketch is no fancy picture every one of
you knows. Every one of you can glance back over
your own path, and count many and many a one among
those who started from the goal at your side, with
equal energy and perhaps greater promise, who has
found a drunkard's grave long before this. The bright-
ness of the bar, the ornament of the pulpit, the hope
and blessing and stay of many a family — you know,
every one of you who has reached middle life, how
often on your path you set up the warning, " Fallen
before the temptations of the street ! "
6. Hardly one house in this city, whether it be full
and warm with all the luxury of wealth, or whether it
find hard, cold maintenance by the most earnest economy;
no matter which — hardly a house that does not count
among sons or nephews some victim of this vice. The
skeleton of this warning sits at every board. The
whole world is kindred in this suffering. The country
mother launches her boy with trembling upon the temp-
tations of city life ; the father trusts his daughter
anxiously to the young man she has chosen, knowing
what a wreck intoxication may make of the house-tree
they set up.
7. Alas ! how often are their worst forebodings more
than fulfilled ! I have known a case — probably many
of you recall some almost equal to it — where one
worthy woman could count father, brother, husband,
and son-in-law all drunkards — no man among her near
[Chap. III.] Sheridan's ride. 89
kindred, except her son, who was not a victim of this
vice. Like all other appetites, this finds resolution
weak when set against the constant presence of temp-
Up from the South at break of day,
Bringing to Winchester fresh dismay,
The affrighted air with a shudder bore.
Like a herald in haste, to the chieftain's door,
The terrible grumble and rumble and roar,
Telling the battle was on once more.
And Sheridan — twenty miles away I
And wilder still those billows of war
Thundered along the horizon's bar ;
And louder yet into Winchester rolled
The roar of that red sea uncontrolled.
Making the blood of the listener cold,
As he thought of the stake in that fiery fray.
And Sheridan — twenty miles away !
But there is a road from Winchester town,
A good, broad highway leading down 5
90 EVOLUTION OF EXPEESSION. [Vol. II.]
And there, through the flush of the morning light,
A steed as black as the steeds of night,
Was seen to pass as with eagle flight —
As if he knew the terrible need,
He stretched away with the utmost speed ;
Hills rose and fell — but his heart was gay,
With Sheridan fifteen miles away !
Still sprung from those swift hoofs, thundering South,
The dust, like the smoke from the cannon's mouth,
Or the trail of a comet sweeping faster and faster.
Foreboding to traitors the doom of disaster ;
The heart of the steed and the heart of the master
Were beating like prisoners assaulting their walls.
Impatient to be where the battlefield calls ;
Every nerve of the charger was strained to full play,
With Sheridan only ten miles away I
Under his spurning feet the road
Like an arrowy Alpine river flowed.
And the landscape sped away behind
Like an ocean flying before the wind ;
And the steed, like a bark fed with furnace ire,
Swept on with his wild eyes full of fire.
But lo! he is nearing his heart's desire —
He is snuffing the smoke of the roaring fray, *
With Sheridan only five miles away I
[Chap. III. 3 shekidan's ride. 91
The first that the General saw were the groups
Of stragglers, and then the retreating troops ;
What was done — what to do — a glance told him both,
Tlien striking his spurs with a muttered oath,
He dashed down the line 'mid a storm of huzzahs,
And the wave of retreat checked its course there, be-
The sight of the master compelled it to pause.
With foam and with dust the black charger was gray ;
By the flash of his eye, and his red nostril's play,
He seemed to the whole great army to say,
" I have brought you Sheridan all the way
From Winchester down to save the day I '*
Hurrah, hurrah for Sheridan !
Hurrah, hurrah for horse and man !
And when their statues are placed on high,
Under the dome of the Union sky —
The American soldier's temple of Fame, —
There, with the glorious General's name,
Be it said in letters both bold and bright :
•* Here is the steed that saved the day.
By carrying Sheridan into the fight
From Winchester — twenty miles away I"
T. B. Read.
92 EVOLUTION OF EXPBESSION. [Vol. II.]
TO A PUPIL.
Is reform needed ? Is it through you ?
The greater the reform needed, the greater the
Personality you need to accomplish it.
You I do you not see how it would serve to have eyes,
blood, complexion, clean and sweet?
Do you not see how it would serve to have such a body
and soul that when you enter the crowd an atmos-
phere of desire and command enters with you, and
every one is impressed with your Personality ?
O the magnet ! the flesh over and over !
Go dear friend, if need be give up all else and com-
mence to-day to inure yourself to pluck, reality,
self-esteem, definiteness, elevatedness,
Rest not till you rivet and publish yourself of your
THE PICKWICKIANS ON ICE.
1. "Now,'* said Wardle, after a substantial lunch,
with the agreeable items of strong beer and cherry-
brandy, had been done ample justice to, " what say you
to an hour on the ice ? We shall have plenty of time."
" Capital I " said Mr. Benjamin Allen.
" Prime ! " ejaculated Mr. Bob Sawyer.
" You skate, of course, Winkle ? " said Wardle.
2. "Ye — yes; oh, yes!" replied Mr. Winkle. "I
— am rather out of practice."
« Oh, do skate, Mr. Winkle," said Arabella. " I like
to see it so much I "
" Oh, it is so graceful ! ' ' said another young lady.
A third young lady said it was elegant, and a fourth
expressed her opinion that it was " swan-like."
S. " I should be very happy, I am sure," said Mr.
Winkle, reddening ; " but I have no skates."
94 EVOLUTION OF EXPRESSION. [Vol. XL]
This objection was at once overruled. Trundle had
got a couple of pair, and the fat boy announced that
there were half a dozen more down-stairs ; whereat Mr.
Winkle expressed exquisite delight, and looked exqui-
4. Old Wardle led the way to a pretty large sheet of
ice ; and, the fat boy and Mr. Weller having shovelled
and swept away the snow which had fallen on it during
the night, Mr. Bob Sawyer adjusted his skates with a
dexterity which to Mr. Winkle v/as perfectly marvel-
lous, and described circles with his left leg, and cut
figures of eight, and inscribed upon the ice, without
once stopping for breath, a great many other pleasant
and astonishing devices, to the excessive satisfaction of
Mr. Pickwick, Mr. Tupman, and the ladies; which
reached a pitch of positive enthusiasm when old Wardle
and Benjamin Allen, assisted by the aforesaid Bob
Sawyer, performed some mystic evolutions, which they
called a reel.
5. All this time Mr, Winkle, with his face and hands
blue with the cold, had been forcing a gimlet into the
soles of his feet, and putting his skates on with the
points behind, and getting the straps into a very com-
plicated and entangled state, with the assistance of Mr.
Snodgrass, who knew rather less about skates than a
Hindoo. At length, however, with the assistance of
Mr. Weller, the unfortunate skates were firmly screwed
and buckled on, and Mr. Winkle was raised to his feet.
[Chap. IV.] THE PICKWICKIANS ON ICE. 95
6. "Now, then, sir," said Sam, in an encouraging
tone, " off with you, and show 'em how to do it."
" Stop, Sam, stop I " said Mr. Winkle, trembling
violently, and clutching hold of Sam's arms with the
grasp of a drowning man. " How slippery it is, Sam I "
" Not an uncommon thing upon ice, sir," replied Mr.
Weller. " Hold up, sir."
This last observation of Mr. Weller' s bore reference
to a demonstration Mr. Winkle made, at the instant, of
a frantic desire to tlirow his feet in the air, and dash
the back of his head on the ice.
7. " These — these — are very awkward skates j ain't
they, Sam ? " inquired Mr. Winkle, staggering.
" I'm afeered there's an orkard gen'lm'n in 'em, sir,"
"Now, Winkle," cried Mr. Pickwick, quite uncon-
scious that there was anything the matter, " Come ;
the ladies are all anxiety."
"Yes, yes," replied Mr. Winkle with a ghastly smile,
" I'm coming."
" Just a-goin' to begin," said Sam, endeavoring to
disengage himself. " Now, sir, start off.'*
8. "Stop an instant, Sam," gasped Mr. Winkle,
clinging most affectionately to Mr. Weller. " I find
I've got a couple of coats at home that I don't want,
Sam. You may have them, Sam."
" Thankee, Sir," replied Mr. Weller.
"Never mind touching your hat, Sam," said Mr.
96 EVOLUTION OF EXPRESSION. [Vol II.]
Winkle hastily. " You needn't take your hand away
to do that. I meant to have given you five shillings
this morning for a Christmas-box, Sam. I'll give it to
you this afternoon, Sam."
" You're wery good, sir," replied Mr. Weller.
" Just hold me at first, Sam, will you ? " said Mr.
Winkle. " There, that's right. I shall soon get in the
way of it, Sam. Not too fast, Sam ; not too fast ! "
9. Mr. Winkle stooping forward, with his body half
doubled up, was being assisted over the ice by Mr.
Weller, in a very singular and un-swan-like manner,
when Mr. Pickwick most innocently shouted from the
"Sir?" said Mr. Weller.
" Here I I want you."
" Let go, sir," said Sam ; " don't you hear the gov-
ernor a-callin' ? Let go, sir."
10. With a violent effort Mr. Weller disengaged him-
self from the grasp of the agonized Pickwickian ; and,
in so doing, administered a considerable impetus to the
unhappy Mr. Winkle. With an accuracy which no de-
gree of dexterity or practice could have insured, that
unfortunate gentleman bore swiftly down into the
centre of the reel, at the very moment when Mr. Bob
Sawyer was performing a flourish of unparalleled beauty.
Mr. Winkle struck wildly against him, and with a loud
crash they fell heavily down. Mr. Pickwick ran to
[Chap. IV.] THE PICKWICKIANS ON ICE. 97
the spot. Bob Sawyer had risen to his feet ; but Mr.
Winkle was far too wise to do anything of the kind in
skates. He was seated on the ice, making spasmodic
efforts to smile ; but anguish was depicted on every
lineament of his countenance.
11. "Are you hurt?" inquired Mr. Benjamin Allen
with great anxiety.
*'Not much," said Mr. Winkle, rubbing his back
" I wish you would let me bleed you," said Mr.
Benjamin Allen with great eagerness.
" No, thank you," replied Mr. Winkle hurriedly.
" I really think you had better," said Mr. Allen.
" Thank you," replied Mr. Winkle, " I'd rather not."
"What do you think, Mr. Pickwick?" inquired
12. Mr. Pickwick was excited and indignant. He
beckoned to Mr. Weller, and said in a stern voice,
" Take his skates off."
" No ; but really I had scarcely begun," remonstrated
" Take his skates off," repeated Mr. Pickwick firmly.
The command was not to be resisted. Mr. Winkle
allowed Sam to obey it in silence.
" Lift him up," said Mr. Pickwick. Sam assisted
him to rise.
13. Mr. Pickwick retired a few paces apart from the
by-standers ; and, beckoning his friend to approach,
98 EVOLUTION OF EXPRESSION. [Vol. II.]
fixed a searching look upon him, and uttered in a low
but distinct and emphatic tone, these remarkable words :
" You're a humbug, sir."
" A what? " said Mr. Winkle, starting.
" A humbug, sir. I will speak plainer if you wish
it. An imposter, sir."
With these words Mr. Pickwick turned slowly on
his heel, and rejoined his friends.
14. While Mr. Pickwick was delivering himself of
the sentiment jast recorded, Mr. Weller and the fat boy,
having by their joint endeavors cut out a slide, were ex-
ercising themselves thereupon in a very masterly and
brilliant manner. Sam Weller, in particular, was dis-
playing that beautiful feat of fancy sliding, which is
currently denominated " knocking at the cobbler's door,"
and which is achieved by skimming over the ice on
one foot, and occasionally giving a twopenny postman's
knock upon it with the other. It was a good long slide ;
and there was something in the motion which Mr.
Pickwick, who was very cold with standing still, could
not help envying.
15. "It looks a nice warm exercise, that, doesn't
it ? " he inquired of Wardle, when that gentleman was
thoroughly out of breath by reason of the indefatigable
manner in which he had converted his legs into a pair of
compasses, and drawn complicated problems on the ice.
"Ah, it does, indeed," replied Wardle. "Do you
[Chap. IV.] THE PICKWICKIANS ON ICE. 99
" I used to do so on the gutters, when I was a boy,"
replied Mr. Pickwick.
" Try it now," said Wardle.
" Oh, do please, Mr. Pickwick ! " cried all the ladies.
" I should be very happy to afford you any amuse-
ment," replied Mr. Pickwick ; " but I haven't done such
a thing these thirty years."
16. *' Pooh ! pooh ! nonsense I " said Wardle, drag-
ging off his skates with the impetuosity which character-
ized all his proceedings. " Here ! I'll keep you com-
pany ; come along." And away went the good-tempered
old fellow down the slide with a rapidity which came
very close upon Mr. Weller, and beat the fat boy all to
Mr. Pickwick paused, considered, pulled off his
gloves, and put them in his hat, took two or three short
runs, balked himself as often, and at last took another
run, and went slowly and gravely down the slide, with
his feet about a yard and a quarter apart, amidst the
gratified shouts of all the spectators.
17. " Keep the pot a-bilin', sir," said Sam; and
down went Wardle again, and then Mr. Pickwick, and
then Sam, and then Mr. Winkle, and then Mr. Bob
Sawyer, and then the fat boy, and then Mr. Snodgrass ,
following closely upon each other's heels, and running
after each other with as much eagerness as if all
their future prospects in life depended on their ex-
100 EVOLUTION OF EXPRESSION. [Vol. II.]
18r It was the most intensely interesting thing to
observe the manner in which Mr. Pickwick performed
his share in the ceremony; to watch the torture of
anxiety with which he viewed the person behind gain-
ing upon him at the imminent hazard of tripping him
up ; to see him gradually expend the painful force which
he had put on at first, and turn slowly round on the
slide, with his face towards the point from which he
started ; to contemplate the playful smile which mantled
on his face when he had accomplished the distance, and
the eagerness with which he turned round when he had
done so, and ran after his predecessor, his black gaiters
tripping pleasantly through the snow, and his eyes
beaming cheerfulness and gladness through his specta-
cles. And when he was knocked down, (which hap-
pened upon the average every third round), it was
the most invigorating sight that could possibly be imag-
ined, to behold him gather up his hat, gloves, and
handkerchief with a glowing countenance, and resume
his station in the rank with an ardor and enthusiasm
which nothing could abate.
19. The sport was at its height, the sliding was at
the quickest, the laughter was at the loudest, when a
sharp, smart crack was heard. There was a quick rush
towards the bank, a wild scream from the ladies, and a
shout from Mr. Tupman. A large mass of ice disap-
peared, the water bubbled up over it, and Mr. Pick-
wick's hat, gloves, and handkerchief were floating on
[Chap. IV.] THE PICKWICKIANS ON ICE. 101
the surface ; and this was all of Mr. Pickwick that any-
body could see.
20. Dismay and anguish were depicted on every
countenance; the males turned pale, and the females
fainted; Mr. Snodgrass and Mr. Winkle grasped each
other by the hand, and gazed at the spot where their
leader had gone down, with frenzied eagerness ; while
Mr. Tupman, by way of rendering the promptest assist-
ance, and at the same time conveying to any person
who might be within hearing the clearest possible
notion of the catastrophe, ran off across the country at
his utmost speed, screaming " Fire ! " with all his might
21. It was at this very moment, when old Wardle
and Sam Weller were approaching the hole with cau-
tious steps and Mr. Benjamin Allen was holding a
hurried consultation with Mr. Bob Sawyer on the ad-
visability of bleeding the company generally, as an im-
proving little bit of professional practice, — it was at
this very moment that a face, head, and shoulders
emerged from beneath the water, and disclosed the
features and spectacles of Mr. Pickwick.
22. " Keep yourself up for an instant, for only one
instant," bawled Mr. Snodgrass.
" Yes — do : let me implore you — for my sake,"
roared Mr. Winkle, deeply affected. The adjuration
was rather unnecessary ; the probability being, that, if
Mr. Pickwick had not decided to keep himself up for
102 ETOLtTTION OF EXPRESSION. [Vol. II.]
anybody else's sake, it would have occurred to him that
he might as well do so for his own.
" Do you feel the bottom there, old fellow ? " said
" Yes — certainly," replied Mr. Pickwick, wringing
the water from his head and face, and gasping for
breath. " I fell upon my back. I couldn't get on my
feet at first."
23. The clay upon so much of Mr. Pickwick's coat
as was yet visible bore testimony to the accuracy of this
statement ; and, as the fears of the spectators were still
further relieved by the fat boy's suddenly recollecting
that the water was nowhere more than five feet deep,
prodigies of valor were performed to get him out.
After a vast quantity of splashing and cracking and
struggling, Mr. Pickwick was at length fairly extricated
from his unpleasant situation, and once more stood on
24. Mr. Pickwick was wrapped up, and started off
for home, presenting the singular phenomenon of an
elderly gentleman dripping wet, and without a hat,
with his arms bound down to his sides, skimming over
the ground without any clearly defined purpose, at the
rate of six good English miles an hour.
[Chap. IV.] THE EBALM OF FANCY. 108
THE REALM OF FANCY.
Ever let the Fancy roam ;
Pleasure never is at home :
At a touch sweet Pleasure melteth,
Like to bubbles when rain pelteth ;
Then let winged Fancy wander
Through the thought still spread beyond her %
Open wide the mind's cage-door,
She'll dart forth, and cloudward soar.
O sweet Fancy ! let her loose ;
Summer's joys are spoilt by use,
And the enjoying of the Spring
Fades as does its blossoming ;
Autumn's red-lipp'd fruitage too.
Blushing through the mist and dew,
Cloys with tasting : What do then ?
Sit thee by the ingle, when
The sear faggot blazes bright.
Spirit of a winter's night ;
When the soundless earth is muffled,
And the cak^d snow is shuffled
From the ploughboy's heavy shoon ;
When the Night doth meet the Nooa
In a dark conspiracy
To banish Even from her sky.
Sit thee there, and send abroad,
With a mind self-overaw'd,
104 EVOLUTION OF EXPRESSION. [Vol. II.]
Fancy, high-commission'd : — send her I
She has vassals to attend her:
She will bring, in spite of frost,
Beauties that the earth hath lost ;
She will bring thee, all together,
All delights of summer weather ;
All the buds and bells of May,
From dewy sward of thorny spray ;
All the heaped Autumn's wealth,
With a still, mysterious stealth :
She will mix these pleasures up
Like three fit wines in a cup,
And thou shalt quaff it : — thou shalt hear
Distant harvest-carols clear;
Rustle of the reaped corn ;
Sweet birds antheming the morn :
And, in the same moment — hark !
'Tis the early April lark,
Or the rooks, with busy caw.
Foraging for sticks and straw.
Thou shalt, at one glance, behold
The daisy and the marigold ;
White-plumed lilies, and the first
Hedge-grown primrose that hath burst
Shaded hyacinth, alway
Sapphire queen of the mid-May ;
And every leaf, and every flower
Pearled with the self-same shower.
[Chap. IV.] THE EBALM OF FANCY. 105
Thou shalt see the field-mouse peep
Meagre from its celled sleep ;
And the snake all winter-thin
Cast on sunny bank its skin ;
Freckled nest-eggs thou shalt see
Hatching in the hawthorn-tree,
When the hen-bird's wing doth rest
Quiet on her mossy nest ;
Then the hurry and alarm
When the bee-hive casts its swarm ;
Acorns ripe down-pattering,
While the autumn breezes sing.
Oh, sweet Fancy ! let her loose ;
Everything is spoilt by use :
Where's the cheek that doth not fade.
Too much gazed at ? Where's the maid
Whose lip mature is ever new ?
Where's the eye, however blue.
Doth not weary ? Where's the face
One would meet in every place ?
Where's the voice, however soft.
One would hear so very oft?
At a touch sweet Pleasure melteth
Like to bubbles when rain pelteth.
Let then winged Fancy find
Thee a mistress to thy mind :
Dulcet-eyed as Ceres' daughter,
106 EVOLUTION OF EXPRESSION. [Vol. 11. ]
Ere the God of Torment tauglit her
How to frown and how to chide ;
With a waist and with a side
White as Hebe's, when her zone
Slipt its golden clasp, and down
Fell her kirtle to her feet.
While she held the goblet sweet,
And Jove grew languid. — Break the mesh
Of the Fancy's silken leash ;
Quickly break her prison-string.
And such joys as these she'll bring.
— Let the winged Fancy roam,
Pleasure never is at home.
THE BATTLE OF NASEBY.
Oh, wherefore come ye forth, in triumph from the north,
With your hands, and your feet, and your raiment
And wherefore doth your rout send forth a joyous shout ?
And whence be the grapes of the wine-press which
Oh, evil was the root, and bitter was the fruit,
And crimson was the juice of the vintage that ye trod ;
For we trampled on the throng of the haughty and the
Who sat in the high places, and slew the saints of
[Chap. IV.] THE BATTLE OF NASEBY. 107
It was about the noon of a glorious day in June,
That we saw their banner's dance, and their cuirasses
And the Man of Blood was there, with his long essenced
And Astley, and Sir Marmaduke, and Rupert of the
Like a servant of the Lord, with his Bible and his sword.
The general rode along us, to form us to the fight.
When a murmuring sound broke out, and swelled into
Among the godless horsemen, upon the tyrant's right.
And, hark ! like the roar of the billows on the shore,
The cry of battle rises along their charging line !
For God ! for the Cause I for the Church I for the Laws !
For Charles, king of England, and Rupert of the
The furious German comes, with his clarions and his
His bravoes of Alsatia, and pages of Whitehall ;
They are bursting on our flanks. Grasp your pikes,
close your ranks,
For Rupert never comes but to conquer or to fall.
108 EVOLUTION OF EXPBESSION. [Vol. 11.]
They are here 1 They rush on ! We are broken ! We
are gone I
Our left is borne before them like stubble on the blast.
O Lord, put forth thy might ! O Lord, defend the right I
Stand back to back, in God's name, and fight it to
Stout Skippon hath a wound ; the center hath given
Hark ! hark ! What means this trampling of horse-
men in our rear ?
Whose banner do I see, boys ? *Tis he, thank God ! 'tis
Bear up another minute : brave Oliver is hers.
Their heads all stooping low, their points all in a row,
Like a whirlwind on the trees, like a deluge en the
Our cuirassiers have burst on the ranks of the Accurst,
And at a shock have scattered the forest of his pikes.
Fast, fast, the gallants ride, in some safe nook to hide
Their coward heads, predestined to rot on Temple
And he — he turns, he flies : — shame on those cruel
That bore to look on torture, and dare not look on
[Chap. IV.] THE GLORIES OF MORNING. 109
THE GLORIES OF MORNING.
1. I had occasion, a few weeks since, to take the early-
train from Providence to Boston ; and for this purpose
rose at two o'clock in the morning. Everything
around was wrapt in darkness and hushed in silence,
broken only by what seemed at that hour the un-
earthly clank and rush of the train. It was a mild,
serene, midsummer's night — the sky was without a
cloud — the winds were whist. The moon, then in
the last quarter, had just risen, and the stars shone
with a spectral lustre but little affected by her pres-
ence. Jupiter two hours high, was the herald of the
day; the Pleiades, just above the horizon, shed their
sweet influence in the east; Lyra sparkled near the
zenith; the steady pointers, far beneath the pole,
looked meekly up from the depths of the north to their
2. Such was the glorious spectacle as I entered the
train. As we proceeded, the timid approach of twi-
light became more perceptible ; the intense blue of the
sky began to soften; the smaller stars, like little
children, went first to rest; the sister-beams of the
Pleiades soon melted together; but the laright con-
stellations of the west and north remained unchanged.
Steadily the wondrous transfiguration went on. Hands
of angels, hidden from mortal eyes, shifted the scenery
of the heavens ; the glories of night dissolved into the
glories of dawn.
110 EVOLUTION OF EXPRESSION. [Vol. II.]
, 3. The blue sky now turned more softly gray ; the
great watch-stars shut up their holy eyes; the east
began to kindle. Faint streaks of purple soon blushed
along the sky; the whole celestial concave was filled
with the inflowing tides of the morning light, which
came pouring down from above in one great ocean of
radiance ; till at length, as we reached the Blue Hills,
a flash of purple fire blazed out from above the horizon,
and turned the dewy tear-drops of flower and leaf into
rubies and diamonds. In a few seconds, the ever-
lasting gates of the morning were thrown wide open,
and the lord of day, arrayed in glories too severe for
the gaze of man, began his state.
4. I do not wonder at the superstition of the ancient
Magians, who in the morning of the world went up to
the hill-tops of Central Asia, and, ignorant of the true
God, adored the most glorious work of his hand. But
I am filled with amazement, when I am told, that, in
this enlightened age and in the heart of the Christian
world, there are persons who can witness this daily
manifestation of the power and wisdom of the Creator,
and yet say in their hearts, " There is no God."
[Chap. € v.] THE CHAMBERED NAUTILUS. Ill
THE CHAMBERED NAUTILUS^
This is the ship of pearl, which, poets feign,
Sails the unshadowed main, —
The venturous bark that flings
On the sweet summer wind its purple wings
In gulfs enchanted, where the siren aings,
And coral reefs lie bare.
Where the cold sea-maids rise to sun their streaming hair.
Its webs of living gauze no more unfurl, • —
Wrecked is the ship of pearl !
And every chambered cell.
Where its dim dreaming life was wont to dwell,
As the frail tenant shaped his growing shell,
Before thee lies revealed, —
Its irised ceiling rent, its sunless crypt unsealed I
Year after year beheld the silent toil
That spread his lustrous coil ;
Still, as the spiral grew,
He left the past year's dwelling for the new.
Stole with soft step its shining archway through,
Built up its idle door,
Stretched in his last-found home, and knew the old no
Thanks for the heavenly message brought by thee,
Child of the wandering sea.
112 EVOLUTION OF EXPRESSION. [Vol. IIJ
Cast from her lap forlorn !
From thy dead lips a clearer note is borne
Than ever Triton blew from wreathed horn !
While on mine ear it rings,
Through the deep caves of thought I hear a voice that
Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul,
As the swift seasons roll I
Leave thy low-vaulted past I
Let each new temple, nobler than the last.
Shut thee from heaven with a dome more vast.
Till thou at length art free,
Leaving thine outgrown shell by life's unresting sea !
O. W. Holmes.
1. Once more I am upon this serene hill-top ! The
air is very clear, very still, and very solemn or, rather,
tenderly sad, in its serene brightness. It is not that
moist spring air, full of the smell of wood, of the soil,
and of the odor of vegetation, which warm winds bring
to us from the south.
2. It is not that summer atmosphere, full of alterna-
tions of haze and fervent clearness, as if Nature were
calling into life every day some influence for its myriad
children; sometimes in showers, and sometimes with
coercive heat upon root and leaf ; and, like a universal
[Chap. IV.] AUTUMN. 113
task-master, was driving up the hours to accomplish the
labors of the year.
3. No ! In these autumn days there is a sense of
leisure and of meditation. The sun seems to look
down upon the labors of its fiery hands with com-
placency. Be satisfied, O seasonable Sun ! Thou
hast shaped an ample year, and art garnering up har-
vests which well may swell thy rejoicing heart with
4. One who breaks off in summer, and returns in
autumn to the hills, needs almost to come to a new
acquaintance with the most familiar things. It is
another world ; or it is the old world a-masquerading ;
and you halt, like one scrutinizing a disguised friend,
between the obvious dissemblance and the subtile
5. Southward of our front door there stood two elms,
leaning their branches toward each other, forming a
glorious arch of green. Now, in faint yellow, they
grow attenuated and seem as if departing ; they are
losing their leaves and fading out of sight, as trees do
in twilight. Yonder, over against that young growth
of birch and evergreen, stood, all summer long, a
perfect maple-tree, rounded out on every side, thick
with luxuriant foliage, and dark with greenness, save
when the morning sun, streaming through it, sent
transparency to its very heart.
6. Now it is a tower of gorgeous red. So sober and
114 EVOLUTION OF EXPRESSION. [Vol. II.]
solemn did it seem all summer, that I should think as
soon to see a prophet dancing at a peasant's holiday, as
it transfigured to such intense gayety ! Its fellows,
too, the birches and the walnuts, burn from head to
foot with fires that glow but never consume.
7. But these holiday hills I Have the evening
clouds, suffused with sunset, dropped down and become
fixed into solid forms? Have the rainbows that fol-
lowed autumn storms faded upon the mountains and
left their mantles there ? Yet, with all their brilliancy,
how modest do they seem ; how patient when bare, or
burdened with winter ; how cheerful when flushed with
summer-green, and how modest when they lift up
their wreathed and crowned heads in the resplendent
days of autumn !
8. I stand alone upon the peaceful summit of this
hill, and turn in every direction. The east is all
a-glow ; the blue north flushes all her hills with
radiance ; the west stands in burnished armor ; the
southern hills buckle the zone of the horizon together
with emeralds and rubies, such as were never set in
the fabled girdle of the gods I Of gazing there cannot
be enough. The hunger of the eye grows by feeding.
9. Only the brotherhood of evergreens — the pine,
the cedar, the spruce, and the hemlock — refuse to join
this universal revel. They wear their sober green
through autumn and winter, as if they were set to keep
open the path of summer through the whole year, and
[Chap. IV.] AUTUMN. 115
girdle all seasons together with a clasp of endless
10. But in vain do they give solemn examples to
the merry leaves which frolic with every breeze, that
runs sweet riot in the glowing shades. Gay leaves
will not be counselled, but will die bright and laugh-
ing. But both together — the transfigured leaves of
deciduous trees and the calm unchangeableness of ever-
greens — how more beautiful are they than either
alone ! The solemn pine brings color to the cheek of
the beeches, and the scarlet and golden maples rest
gracefully upon the dark foliage of the million-fin-
11. Lifted far above all harm of fowler or impedi-
ment of mountain, wild fowl are steadily flying south-
ward. The simple sight of them fills the imagination
with pictures. They have all summer long called to
each other from the reedy fens and wild oat-fields of
the far north. Summer is already extinguished there.
12. Winter is following their track, and marching
steadily toward us. The spent flowers, the seared
leaves, the thinning tree-tops, the morning frost, have
borne witness of a change on earth ; and these caravans
of the upper air confirm the tidings. Summer is gone ;
winter is coming I
13. The wind has risen to-day. It is not one of those
gusty, playful winds that frolic with the trees. It is a
wind high up in air, that moves steadily, with a solemn
116 EVOLUTION OF EXPRESSION. [Vol. II.]
sound, as if it were the spirit of summer journey-
ing past us ; and, impatient of delay, it does not
stoop to the earth, but touches the tops of the trees,
with a murmuring sound, sighing a sad farewell and
14. Such days fill one with pleasant sadness. How
sweet a pleasure is there in sadness ! It is not sorrow ;
it is not despondency ; it is not gloom ! It is one of
the moods of joy. At any rate I am very happy, and
yet it is sober, and very sad happiness. It is the
shadow of joy upon the soul ! I can reason about these
changes. I can cover over the dying leaves with im-
aginations as bright as their own hues ; and, by Chris-
tian faith, transfigure the whole scene with a blessed
vision of joyous dying and glorious resurrection.
15. But what then ? Such thoughts glow like even-
ing clouds, and not far beneath them are the evening
twilights, into whose dusk they will soon melt away.
And all communions, and all admirations, and all asso-
ciations, celestial or terrene, come alike into a pensive
sadness, that is even sweeter than our joy. It is the
minor key of our thoughts.
Henry Ward Beecher.
Around this lovely valley rise
The purple hills of Paradise.
[Chap. IV.] MIDSTJMMEB. 117
O, softly on yon banks of haze
Her rosy face the Summer lays I
Becalmed along the azure sky,
The argosies of Cloudland lie,
Whose shores, with many a shining rift,
Far off their pearl-white peaks uplift.
Through all the long midsummer day
The meadow-sides are sweet with hay.
I seek the coolest sheltered seat.
Just where the field and forest meet, —
Where grow the pine trees tall and bland.
The ancient oaks austere and grand.
And fringy roots and pebbles fret
The ripples of the rivulet.
I watch the mowers, as they go
Through the tall grass a white-sleeved row.
With even stroke their scythes they swing,
In tune their merry whetstones ring.
Behind, the nimble youngsters run.
And toss the thick swaths in the sun.
The cattle graze, while, warm and still.
Slopes the broad pasture, basks the hill.
And bright, where summer breezes break,
The green wheat crinkles like a lake.
The butterfly and humble bee
Come to the pleasant woods with me 5
118 EVOLUTION OF EXPRESSION. [Vol. II.]
Quickly before me runs the quail,
Her chickens skulk behind the rail ;
High up the lone wood-pigeon sits,
And the woodpecker pecks and flits,
Sweet woodland music sinks and swells,
The brooklet rings its tinkling bells,
The swarming insects drone and hum,
The partridge beats his throbbing drum,
The squirrel leaps among the boughs.
And chatters in his leafy house.
The oriole flashes by ; and, look !
Into the mirror of the brook.
Where the vain bluebird trims his coat,
Two tiny feathers fall and float.
As silently, as tenderly,
The down of peace descends on me.
O, this is peace ! I have no need
Of friend to talk, of book to read •
A dear Companion here abides ;
Close to my thrilling heart He hides ;
The holy silence is His voice :
I lie and listen and rejoice.
J. T. Trowbridge.
THE KITTEN AND FALLING LEAVES,
That way look, my Infant, lo !
What a pretty baby-show I
[Chap. IV.] THE KITTEN AND FALLING LEAVES. 119
See the Kitten on the wall,
Sporting with the leaves that fall,
Withered leaves — one — two — and three —
From the lofty elder-tree !
Through the calm and frosty air
Of this morning briglit and fair,
Eddying round and round they sink
Slowly, slowly: one might think,
From the motions that are made,
Every little leaf conveyed
Sylph or Faery hither tending, —
To this lower world descending,
Each invisible and mute,
In his wavering parachute.
— But the Kitten, how she starts,
Crouches, stretches, paws, and darts !
First at one, and then its fellow
Just as light and just as yellow ;
There are many now — now one —
Now they stop and there are none.
What intenseness of desire
In her upward eye of lire I
With a tiger-leap half-way
Now she meets the coming prey,
Lets it go as fast, and then
Has it in her power again :
120 EVOLUTION OF EXPRESSION. [Vol. II.]
Now she works with three or four,
Like an Indian conjurer;
Quick as he in feats of art,
Far beyond in joy of heart.
Were her antics played in the eye
Of a thousand standers-by,
Clapping hands with shout and stare,
What would little Tabby care
For the plaudits of the crowd ?
Over happy to be proud,
Over wealthy in the treasure
Of her own exceeding pleasure I
Such a light of gladness breaks,
Pretty Kitten ! from thy freaks, — <
Spreads with such a living grace
O'er my little Dora's face ;
Yes, the sight so stirs and charms
Thee, Baby, laughing in my arms.
That almost I could repine
That your transports are not mine,
That I do not wholly fare
Even as ye do, thoughtless pair I
And I will have my careless season
Spite of melancholy reason,
Will walk through life in such a way
That, when time brings on decay.
Now and then I may possess
Hours of perfect gladsomeness.
[Chap. IV.] SUMMER STOEM. 121
— Pleased by any random toy ;
By a kitten's busy joy,
Or an infant's laughing eye
Sharing in the ecstasy ;
I would fare like that or this,
Find my wisdom in my bliss ;
Keep the sprightly soul awake.
And have faculties to take,
Even from things by sorrow wrought,
Matter for a jocund thought,
Spite of care, and spite of grief.
To gambol with Life's falling Leaf.
Untremulous in the river clear.
Toward the sky's image, hangs the imaged bridge ;
So still the air that I can hear
The slender clarion of the unseen midge ;
Out of the stillness, with a gathering creep.
Like rising wind in leaves, which now decreases,
Now lulls, now swells, and all the while increases.
The huddling trample of a drove of sheep
Tilts the loose planks, and then as gradually ceases
In dust on the other side ; life's emblem deep,
A confused noise between two silences.
Finding at last in dust precarious peace.
122 EVOLUTION OF EXPEBSSION. [Vol. II.]
On the wide marsh the purple-blossomed grasses
Soak up the ounshine ; sleeps the brimming tide,
Save when the wedge-shaped wake in silence passes
Of some slow water-rat, whose sinuous glide
Wavers the long green sedge's shade from side to
But up the west, like a rock-shivered surge,
Climbs a great cloud edged with sun-whitened spray ;
Huge whirls of foam boil toppling o'er its verge.
And falling still it seems, and yet it climbs alway.
Suddenly all the sky is hid
As with the shutting of a lid,
One by one great drops are falling
Doubtful and slow,
Down the pane they are crookedly crawling,
And the wind breathes low ;
Slowly the circles widen on the river.
Widen and mingle, one and all ;
Here and there the slenderer flowers shiver,
Struck by an icy rain-drop's fall.
Now on the hills I hear the thunder mutter,
The wind is gathering in the west ;
The upturned leaves first whiten and flutter,
Then droop to a fitful rest ;
Up from the stream with sluggish flap
Struggles the gull and floats away ;
Nearer and nearer rolls the thunder-clap, -^^
[Chap. IV.] , SUMMER STOEM. 12^
We shall not see the sun go down to-day :
Now leaps the wind on the sleepy marsh,
And tramples the grass with terrified feet,
The startled river turns leaden and harsh.
You can hear the quick heart of the tempest beat.
Look ! look ! that livid flash !
And instantly follows the rattling thunder,
As if some cloud-crag, split asunder.
Fell, splintering with a ruinous crash.
On the Earth, which crouches in silence under ;
And now a solid gray wall of rain
Shuts off the landscape, mile by mile ;
For a breath's space I see the blue wood again.
And, ere the next heart-beat, the wind-hurled pile.
That seemed but now a league aloof.
Bursts crackling o'er the sun-parched roof ;
Against the windows the storm comes dashing.
Through tattered foliage the hail tears crashing,
The blue lightning flashes,
The rapid hail clashes.
The white waves are tumbling.
And, in one baffled roar,
Like the toothless sea mumbling
A rock-bristled shore.
The thunder is rumbling
And crashing and crumbling, — .
Will silence return never more ?
Hush ! Still as death,
The tempest holds his breath
124 EYOLTTTION OF EXPEESSION. [Vol. II.]
As from a sudden will ;
The rain stops short, but from the eaves
You see it drop, and hear it from the leaves.
All is so bodingly still ;
Again, now, now, again
Plashes the rain in heavy gouts,
The crinkled lightning
Seems ever brightening,
And loud and long
Again the thunder shouts
His battle-song, —
One quivering flash,
One wildering crash,
Followed by silence dead and dull.
As if the cloud, let go,
Leapt bodily below
To whelm the earth in one mad overthrow,
And then a total lull.
Gone, gone, so soon I
No more my half-crazed fancy there
Can shape a giant in the air.
No more I see his streaming hair,
The writhing portent of his form ;
The pale and quiet moon
Makes her calm forehead bare.
And the last fragments of the storm,
Like shattered rigging from a fight at sea,
Silent and few, are drifting over me.
James Russell Lowell.
[Chap. IV.] JAQUES" SEVEN AGES OF MAN. 125
JAQUES' SEVEN AGES OF MAN.
All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players :
They have their exits, and their entrances ;
And one man in his time plays many parts.
His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant.
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.
And then, the whining school-boy, with his satchel,
And shining morning face, creeping, like snail,
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then the soldier,
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like a pard.
Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel.
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon's mouth. And then, the justice,
In fair round belly, with good capon lin'd.
With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut.
Full of wise saws and modern instances.
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper d pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose, and pouch on side ;
His youthful hose well sav'd, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank ; and his big manly voice.
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all.
That ends this strange, eventful history.
Is second childishness, and mere oblivion ;
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.
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